Sam's Story:  Before the SGC
by Noda2
Summary: Sam's life before she joined the SGC.  Just how did she get mixed up with Jonas Hanson, anyway?


_**Sam's Story: Before the SGC**_

DISCLAIMER: Stargate SG-1 and its characters are the property of Showtime/ Viacom, MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, and Gekko Productions. This story for entertainment purposes only and no money whatsoever has exchanged hands. No copyright infringement is intended. The original characters, situations, and story are the property of the author.

Summary: What events let to Sam's participation in the Stargate Program?

I wish to thank my beta readers Gina, Karen, Michelle, Sally and Sheena who've offered invaluable advice. The mistakes belong to me alone!

Copyright April 2001 by Noda

*Sam's Story: Before The SGC*

~May,1991~

The party was in full swing as Captain Samantha Carter was escorted into the room by her father, General Jacob Carter. Taking in the size of the gathering, Sam felt her face grow warm, and rested her forehead on her father's shoulder momentarily.

"Dad, you really shouldn't have gone to all this trouble! This is too much!"

Jacob patted the hand Sam had looped through his arm. "Hey, it's not everyday my baby girl makes captain!"

"Daaaad!"

Jacob reached over and touched her nose. "And right now you're sounding like that baby girl!"

Sam's blush deepened. "Okay, I'll stop if you promise you will."

"I can't promise I'm not going to brag about you, Sam. What you did, saving those refugees-I don't know if could have done the same. You deserve this, honey."

Sam blinked several times, hoping to keep her emotions in check. She and her father had a shaky relationship at best, and his high praise was a little overwhelming. Of course, if she'd been promoted due to some scientific discovery, she doubted there'd be a party in her honor. However, since her advancement was combat related, Jacob wanted to shout it to the world. It wasn't right, but Sam knew her father, and had finally accepted him the way he was. Too bad he couldn't return the favor.

Sam descended the stairs into the reception room on her father's arm to a short round of applause, then everyone snapped to attention and saluted her. Clearing her throat, Sam returned the gesture, feeling her face grow even warmer. It was one thing to receive the honor from comrades, but the room was populated by more brass than a marching band. It seemed a bit absurd they would be paying homage to her, a mere captain. Then again, she knew most of these men and women. They'd been friends and associates of her father since she could remember.

_*The joy's of being a general's daughter,*_ she smiled to herself as she made her way to the refreshment table. Selecting a glass of punch, Sam hoped someone had the foresight to spike it, as she could use a stiff drink to get through the rest of the evening. Looking about the room, Sam decided she, and possibly the catering staff, were the only guests under fifty.

Taking a sip of her punch, Sam shook her head.

"Something wrong, Ma'am?" one of the uniformed waiters asked.

"Yeah, it's just punch," she said.

He smiled his understanding and pointed her in the direction of a cluster of people. "There's a bar in the corner."

Noting the crowd, Sam grinned. "Ah. I should have known. Thanks." She started to make her way across the room when her father caught up with her once more.

"Sammie, this is General Moorman. He's in charge of Peterson Air Force Base. Tom, this is my Sammie."

Sam felt about six inches tall. Did he have to call her that? It was bad enough he knew her new CO, but did he have to make it blatantly obvious he'd helped get her the position? She'd begged him not to interfere, but Jacob had turned a deaf ear. What good was making general if he couldn't use his clout to help out a family member, he'd argued. Of course _*he'd*_ never been on the receiving end of taunts of "daddy's little girl," or accused of getting "plum" assignments because of her father's acquaintances.

_*Yeah. Saudi Arabia had been "plum,"*_ she laughed to herself.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir," Sam said, extending her hand, pasting a smile on her face.

"And you as well, Captain. I've heard some good things about you," Moorman said, casting a glance at Jacob. "Your recent rescue mission was quite impressive."

"Thank you, Sir," Sam said, feeling her face flush once more. Was she ever going to stop blushing when someone paid her a compliment?

"Well, looks like I've run dry," General Moorman said, looking into his empty glass. "If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course, Tom," Jacob said, slapping the man on the back as he turned to leave.

"Dad, was that _*really*_ necessary? It's bad enough you 'managed' this assignment for me. Did you have to flaunt me in my new C.O.'s face?"

"I'm proud of you, Sam! Can't a father be proud of his daughter?"

Sam felt a bit of her anger melting, only to be replaced by guilt. Maybe this was the only way he knew to show how much he cared for her. Lord knew he hadn't expressed much affection for her since her mother had died.

"I'm sorry, Dad. I know you're trying to give me a hand, but pulling strings isn't helping. It makes me look incompetent."

"You want to get into NASA. This posting to the Air Force Space Command is the best way I know to get you there."

Sam rubbed her forehead. How did she make him understand? "Dad, I _*appreciate*_ everything you're trying to do for me, but I _*have*_ to do this on my own. Surly you can understand that?"

Jacob took a large sip from his glass and looked away. "Yeah, I do." There was a silence, then he added, "it's just since your mother. . . . Well, you know, I haven't been much of a father to you or Mark. I guess I was trying to make up for some of that."

"Dad, you can't 'buy' back those years," Sam said quietly.

Jacob looked at the floor, nodding his head in agreement. He raised his gaze to meet his daughter's. "So, you want me to go tell Tom to find himself another theoretical astrophysicist?"

A grin turned up the corners of Sam's mouth. "Well, I didn't say _*that,*_ exactly."

Jacob placed his hand on her shoulder. "Kid, you're going to go far. With or without my help. I'd just like to think I had a little something to do with it."

"You have, Dad."

Jacob cleared his throat. "I wish your mom could have been here to see this. She would have been so proud."

"Yeah, she would have," Sam agreed. "Too bad Mark couldn't make it."

Sam noticed a muscle twitching in her father's jaw as he clenched his teeth. "Well, you know how busy he always is."

"Yeah."

Just then Jacob perked up, pulling Sam toward the bar. "There's someone I'd like you to meet."

Sam groaned inwardly. _*God I hope it's not another 'stepping stone' in my career!*_ She was surprised when her father stopped before a young man. Well, certainly younger than the rest of the crowd.

"Sam, I'd like you to meet Major Philip Tarkin. Philip, this is my daughter, Samantha."

A smile lit up the man's handsome face as he transferred his drink to his left hand to extend his right.

"The guest of honor! It's a pleasure to meet you, Samantha!"

"Ah, actually, most people call me 'Sam,'" she said, accepting his handshake.

"Well, then, I'll have to call you 'Samantha,' won't I?"

Sam felt another annoying blush creep into her cheeks at the man's smooth words and intense gaze. Well, considering the crowd, she probably _*could*_ lay claim to being one of the better looking women in the room.

"Your father's told me quite a lot about you," he said.

"Well, I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, Major. I don't believe my father's mentioned you."

"Call me, Philip, please. And I'd be surprised if I was your father's first topic of conversation when you two met up again," he said, clearly not put off by her statement.

"Philip is my assistant, but one hot-shot pilot in his own right," Jacob said proudly, clapping him on the shoulder.

"Well, I don't know about that," Philip said, trying to appear modest. "If I've accomplished anything in my career, I owe it all to your father."

_*Oh, brother,*_ Sam thought. _*Another ass-kisser Dad's going to want me to date.*_

"Now, Philip, you know that's not true. You led a very successful air-strike in Iraq."

Philip attempted to seem flattered by her father's praise, but it was obvious to Sam he felt he deserved it. How much longer was their mutual admiration society going to continue? God, she needed a drink!

"Would you two excuse me? It's feeling a little dry in here." Sam stepped quickly over to the bar, ordering a beer. Not the classiest of drinks, but _*she*_ wasn't here to impress anyone. Taking a swig from her bottle, Sam kept her back to the area where her father and Philip were still busy talking. She was probably being rude, but she'd already done about as much "schmoozing" as she could handle. This whole party idea was ridiculous. It wasn't for her benefit and she knew it. Oh, she did get some of the residual fallout since she was the token guest-of-honor, but this gathering was for her father. So he could say to the world, "look what I spawned." She'd always thought her father was such an honorable man. It was bit of a let down to discover he had hidden agendas, same as everyone else.

Looking across the small service bar, Sam noticed another young man watching her. _*Wow, two under fifty. Must be my lucky night,*_ she thought. He didn't appear particularly happy to be at the party. Not only did his expression give him away, the parade of empty beer bottles was testament to his attempt at "getting in the mood."

His eyes met Sam's and he raised his bottle in salute to her before taking a long drink. There was something about him Sam found intriguing, although, she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Perhaps it was the sad, almost painful look on his face. She was about to introduce herself when her father and Philip joined her at the bar.

"Sam, why don't you and Philip go dance? Someone should enjoy this band!"

Sam looked over her shoulder at the sparse collection of dancers on the small dance floor. She really wasn't in the mood-either to dance or be manipulated-but she felt she should at least try to have a good time for her father's sake. Regardless of his motives, he *had* gone to a lot of trouble to arrange the party.

"Captain Carter, may I have this dance?" Philip invited, holding out his crooked arm.

Sam gave him a weak smile as she accepted his arm. "Of course."

Philip was an excellent dancer, and Sam expected nothing less. She couldn't see her father choosing a man for her that didn't exemplify the term "officer and a gentleman." His hold on her was just enough-not too close or too much pressure on her hand, nor limp either. Text-book Arthur Murray.

Sam looked over Philip's shoulder and saw her father beaming, satisfied with his match-making. She gave him a small smile as if to say, "yes, Dad, he's a nice guy," and Jacob's grin grew even larger.

As they twirled around the dance floor, Sam looked up and saw the other man watching her. At first she thought he was watching the two of them dance as Philip was doing his level best to show off. When she looked again, she saw the man was gazing only at her, almost as if she were on the dance floor alone.

"Samantha?"

Sam was distracted from her staring by Philip speaking her name. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Well, I should be offended your mind is so far away, but I'll forgive you this time," he chuckled. "I asked how you liked being back here at Eglin."

"Um, it's okay," she answered lamely.

"Just 'okay?' Samantha, I'm rather surprised! For a woman practically with a doctorate in quantum mechanics, I thought you'd be a little more articulate."

Philip's condescending attitude was beginning to take it's toll on Sam. Obviously her father had talked her up quite a bit if he was aware of her degrees. And the way he kept drawling 'Samantha' was really starting to get on her nerves! Fortunately, the dance ended, and before Philip could offer another, Sam made an excuse about needing to reacquaint herself with Colonel Fitzgibbons.

After winding her way through the crowd, stopping occasionally to chat, Sam found herself suddenly faced with the man from the bar. From his rank insignia, she noticed he was a captain as well. At least she didn't have to apologize for staring at a superior officer. Although, he seemed barely old enough to be a captain. Perhaps he was recently promoted as well.

"The woman of the hour," he slurred as he swayed slightly before her. "Must be nice to come home to such accolades."

"Ah, no, actually not."

"What? Daddy's little girl doesn't like her party? Did he forget to get the pony?"

Sam gritted her teeth. Who the hell was this guy to speak to her that way? And it wasn't because she was General Carter's daughter! He knew nothing about her, but like so many others, he assumed the worst.

"No, I'm pissed off because they ran out of Kool-aid, which you might have considered switching to," she said as she brushed past him. From behind her, she heard laughter, causing her to stop and turn around.

"You surprise me, Generalette. I thought you bought into this whole political scene."

"Obviously you don't know me, so I'd appreciated it if you'd stop passing judgment on me. Especially when you've apparently had too much to drink."

"Now who's passing judgment?" he asked, flashing her a bright smile. In spite of her anger at his audacity, she found him attractive, particularly when he smiled.

"Look, Captain," she said. "Evidently we've gotten off on the wrong foot, and I don't really care to get off on the right one, so I'll just say good night."

"Coward."

"Excuse me?"

"You heard me. I don't think you've got what it takes to get to know me." With that he turned, leaving Sam dumbfounded.

"Well, that was certainly odd," she muttered.

"What's that, honey?" Jacob asked, coming up behind her.

"That captain. I didn't catch his name, but he's certainly peculiar."

"Well, you nailed that one on the head, Sammie," Jacob said, handing his glass to the bartender for a refill. "His name is Jonas Hansen. I don't know what he was like before Desert Storm, but since he's come back I've had people tell me he's changed. Apparently something happened to his unit. I don't know the details. Maybe the doctors do, I don't know. All I *do* know is he's trouble. Currently he's on a medical leave. I swear the man has no friends. Doesn't talk to anyone. I'm surprised he spoke to you."

"If you can call it that."

"What's that?"

"Oh, nothing, Dad." Sam was going to let the subject drop, but there was something about the captain that bothered her. "If he's so anti-social, what is he doing here?"

"The party was open to any of the officers that happened to be on base, besides the people I invited. As you can see, it's mostly the Old Guard."

"Yeah," she smiled. "I noticed that."

"You know, Philip was asking where you'd gone off to . . . ."

"Dad, he's seems like a nice enough guy, but I just got back. Give me a chance to breathe!"

"Okay, Kid. No more pushing. How about a dance with your old man?"

Sam gave her father a huge grin. "Best offer I've had all evening!"

Sam stayed at the party long enough not to be completely rude, but soon made her apologies for an early exit. She still hadn't settled into her temporary quarters, and she _*really*_ wanted to get out of her dress uniform. Reaching up to her shoulder, she stroked the extra bar now pinned there. So much had happened in the last year, she felt she hadn't had a moment to catch her breath.

Stepping out of the Officer's Club, Sam noticed it had begun to rain. "Great," she muttered, knowing she was going to be soaked by the time she reached her base housing. Hopefully, her formal uniform wouldn't be ruined-it was the only one she had. Not that there would be much call for it at her new assignment. She highly doubted dress blues would be required when she was sequestered in some lab.

Sam couldn't wait to get to Peterson. As much as she chastised her father for his interference, she couldn't have asked for a better posting to fast-track her way into NASA. And even if it didn't pan out, at the very least she'd be doing research in her field. Research that had been put on hold when hostilities broke out in the Middle East.

Walking in the light rain, Sam hugged herself to ward off the chill. A car pulled up beside her, and a window rolled down; the driver offering a ride.

"Hey, Generalette, don't they have chauffeurs to drive important people like you home?"

Great. Jonas Hansen. Her father told her he was trouble and so far he was proving him right. "Yeah, but the President needed a ride, so I said he could have mine," she said as she continued forward.

Jonas shadowed her for half a block then said, "get in."

"That's okay. It's not that far. Thank you anyway."

"Look, I'm not going to hurt you. Just let me give you a ride, okay?"

Sam stopped and looked into the car. Jonas wasn't a big man, and he'd been drinking. With her combat training, she figured she could take him, should he try anything. Of course, the fact that he'd been drinking was another reason not to get into the car with him.

"Are you getting in or what?"

"No, I don't think I am. Thanks for the offer, Captain, but I think you've had a little too much to drink."

"Fine," he said, and before Sam could step away from his car he went speeding down one of the base's residential streets.

Shaking her head Sam watched his tail lights disappear around a corner with a screech. "What a nut case," she mumbled. Seconds later she heard the sound of crunching metal and breaking glass.

"Ohmigod!" she cried, starting to run in the direction she'd seen Jonas' car traveling. It only took her about a minute to come to the scene of the accident. The car was fully embracing a telephone pole, steam from the radiator joining the mist of the rain.

"Captain Hansen? My, God! Captain Hansen! Can you hear me?" Sam was banging on the driver's side window, trying to rouse him, but he didn't respond. He was slumped against the steering wheel, blood trickling from his forehead.

Sam tried to open the door, but it was stuck. She continued to yank on the handle when one of the residents stepped outside, pulling a coat on over his sleepwear.

"What happened?" he asked as he joined Sam.

"He was driving really fast, I saw him turn the corner back there but he must have missed this one. I heard the crash." Sam was still tugging on the door, but to no avail.

"Let me try," the man said, giving the door a swift yank, getting it open enough that he and Sam could push it open further.

"Captain Hansen? Are you all right?" Sam asked, sitting him up in the seat. The gash on his head was worse than she'd thought, but it seemed to be his only injury.

"You know this guy?" the man asked.

"Not really. I met him tonight."

"Maybe I should call 911," the man said.

"No. . . ." Jonas moaned. "No more doctors. . . ."

Sam exchanged glances with the man, and he shrugged. "He doesn't seem like he's hurt too bad, but there's going to have to be a report filled out."

Sam nodded, helping Jonas exit the car. "Generalette? That you?"

Grateful her embarrassment wouldn't be spotted in the dim streetlight, Sam quietly acknowledged, "yeah, it's me."

"I knew you liked me."

"You're drunk," she whispered as she slid her arm around his waist, helping him to stand.

"And your point would be?"

"I don't think I'd be making any assumptions about my affections if I were you."

"Why don't you come inside, we can call the MPs from there," the man offered.

"No, I just want to go home," Jonas said, leaning heavily on Sam. "It's just around the next corner."

Sam adjusted Jonas' weight and gave the man a apologetic look. "I think I'll just help him home. He's disturbed everyone enough for one night. I'll make sure he calls to have the car removed. Thanks for your help."

"Suit yourself," the man said, pulling his coat tighter as he headed back to his house.

"Hansen, you sure you're up to this? I really think you should see someone about that cut."

"You've had med training, haven't you?"

"Well, yeah, some."

"Then you can look at me."

Sam sighed and tried to get Jonas to move forward. "Where do you live?"

"Take a right at the next corner. Third one down on the left."

His speech was still a bit slurred, and Sam wondered if Jonas' inability to walk straight was a result of the accident or the alcohol in his system.

What should have taken five minutes took nearly a half an hour, and by the time she reached his door, Sam was thoroughly soaked. She tried not to shiver as she delivered him to a kitchen chair.

"You have a first-aid kit in here anywhere?" she asked tersely. This _*wasn't*_ how she'd envisioned her homecoming! It was bad enough her father sprung the party on her as a surprise, but she certainly didn't count on baby-sitting a drunken stranger! Rifling through his medicine cabinet, Sam found some gauze, tape and antiseptic. As she was about to close the door, Sam noticed several bottles of pills. She didn't want to pry, but if the guy had some weird ailment, she didn't want to just patch him up when he should see a doctor. Looking at the labels, she noted several were for depression, each labeled with a bright florescent warning about not combining with alcohol.

"You don't follow orders well at all, do you Hansen?" Sam said to herself as she closed the medicine cabinet. She couldn't say she was surprised he was taking something for depression, most of the people she'd served with suffered from bouts of it. It was only the thought she had a career waiting at home that had kept her head above water.

Thinking of water, Sam reached over to grab a towel to wipe off her dripping hair. She felt a little odd making herself so at home, but she figured he owed her. Not only for getting him home and the medical services she was about to provide, but for being a jerk in general.

"Generalette," she mumbled. God, she hoped no one caught wind of _*that*_ little nick-name! As she entered the kitchen, she saw Jonas slumped over the table.

"Hansen! You okay?"

"Huh? Oh. I didn't dream you up, did I?" He touched his forehead, pulling his hand away to look at the blood on his fingers. "Guess the bit about my car being totaled it true then too."

"Yeah, you did a real number on it. We're going to have to call the base police, but I want to clean that wound up first."

Jonas sat back and allowed her to minister him. Sam could feel his eyes watching her, and it was making her feel uncomfortable.

"So, Captain Nightingale, how is it you were there to rescue me?"

"I saw you speed around the corner, and when I heard the crash, I knew it was you."

"I'm surprised you didn't run the other way."

"Believe me, I thought about it," Sam said, dabbing antiseptic on his cleaned cut.

"Ow! Jesus! Maybe you should have ran the other way!"

Sam pulled his hand away from his face. Why was it men were such babies when it came to minor injuries? They could walk for miles with a bullet in the leg, but a little thing like a cut had them crying like a two year-old.

"Do you want me to finish this or not?" she threatened.

"Do your worst," he sighed.

"Don't tempt me."

"You know, I don't think we were properly introduced," he said as Sam applied adhesive strips to a gauze pad.

"Not properly, no. My father told me your name is Jonas Hansen."

"Asking Daddy about me already? I guess I made a bigger impression than I thought."

Sam tried to hide her grin. "Yeah, you did, but not in the way you think."

"So, I know you're a Carter. What's your first name?"

Sam hesitated for a moment. She didn't want to tell him 'Samantha' on the off chance he'd take a page out of Major Tarkin's book and insist on emphasizing her name. "It's Sam."

He leaned his head back as she pressed the bandage to his forehead. "It suits you." She wasn't sure he meant it as a compliment or not, seeing as it was generally regarded as a man's name. Changing the subject, she said,

"You really should make that call to the base police. You might get into more trouble if you wait too long."

"Well, I've got an ace in the hole. I've got Daddy Little Girl to vouch for me."

Sam slammed the scissors she was holding down on to the table and headed for the door. "I hope you rot in Hell, Hansen." Before she could reach the handle, Jonas was up, blocking the way.

"Get out of my way."

"Look, Sam, I'm sorry. Let's chalk it up to my still being drunk, okay? I'm usually not this big of an asshole."

"So, normally you're just a medium sized one?"

Jonas smiled. "Depending who you talk to, yeah." There was a silence as Jonas leaned against the door, then he stood, walking away as he offered an explanation. "It's just been one hell of a day, and I shouldn't have taken it out on you. I'm sorry."

Sam felt herself soften. Why was it she always had a soft spot for hard luck cases? Her team mates had nick-named her 'Marshmallow,' and she was beginning to think it fit. Truth be told, it wasn't an act a bravery that helped her rescue those Kuwaiti refugees. It was the fact they were suffering and she just couldn't let that happen if there was something she could do about it. Just as she couldn't walk out on Jonas when he was obviously so miserable.

"What happened?" she asked. "I would say this is more than just the car, considering how you were earlier."

Jonas reached out an unsteady hand and touched his face. "Right on the nose."

Sam took a step away from the door. "You want to talk about it?" She could see he was waging an inner battle between speaking or remaining silent, as he practically fell back onto his chair.

Looking out the window rather than at her, he softly said, "one of my buddies died today. The last surviving member of my unit."

Sam was stunned. She knew how he felt. She'd lost count of the people who'd been hurt or killed recently, and the media was acting like they'd gone into Saudi, slapped a few hands and left. It was amazing what the world didn't see.

"I'm sorry." She was aware it was an ineffectual reply, but she knew from experience, words did nothing to ease the pain. Sitting down next to him, Sam took his hand, offering what comfort she could.

"You know," he said, "it's funny, the Air Force gives you this power, the authority to act like God over the people of your unit, but we don't get the wisdom and the foresight to go with it. Something's screwed up there."

Sam squeezed his hand, causing him to look over at her. There were tears in his eyes and she felt herself starting to crumble. How did she get herself into these situations? Did she ask for this whack job to come looking for her?

Before she realized what she was doing, she'd slid her arms around him, giving him a hug. Embarrassed at the tears she found in her own eyes, she pulled back. "You really should get out of those wet clothes," she said, trying to blink away the moisture in her eyes.

"Yours aren't any drier than mine," he said.

"I promise I'll put something dry on the minute I get home," she managed to smile. As she stood to leave, Sam felt Jonas' hand on hers once more.

"Stay? I've got an old T-shirt and a pair of shorts you can use."

"Jonas, I . . ."

"I promise they're clean," he said. Sam looked down, feeling a grin surface despite the tension in the room. "You can sleep on the couch. I'm not the creep you think I am."

"Well, I have to admit, your behavior hasn't exactly inspired me to trust you."

"Please, Sam? It would help just knowing there's someone else here." God, why did he have to turn those sad eyes on her? Did he already know it was her weakness?

"Don't you know. . . I mean isn't there someone who you could . . . ."

"There's no one. I've been here at Eglin for a while, but as you can imagine, I'm not the most popular guy around. Please?"

His pleading was beginning to wear her down. Good, Lord! What would her father say if he found out she spent her first night home with some guy she just met and he'd just warned her about? Well, she kept telling him she could make her own decisions, her own choices. So, if she chose to help this guy out, what business was it of his?

"All right, but you're in there," she said, pointing to his bedroom, "and I'm out here. Deal?"

"Deal. I'll get you something dry to put on and some blankets."

Sam sat down at the table, cradling her head as Jonas left the room. What in the hell had she gotten herself into?

Sam woke to the sound of retching and listening to the noise, she felt the urge to do so herself. She'd never handled her room mate's "morning afters" very well, and today was no exception. Wait a second. She didn't have a room mate. She was in Florida, at her father's base. Opening her eyes she saw a strange living room, which wasn't so odd since she was assigned to temp quarters, but this room looked definitely lived in. Suddenly it all came back to her as she looked down at the unfamiliar blankets and couch. Jonas.

Sam ran a hand through her short hair, remembering how she'd ended up wearing a strange man's clothes and waking up in his house. Before either had changed, she made him call the base police and file his report. She wasn't about to greet MPs dressed in this man's clothes, especially when there was a chance they'd recognize her as General Carter's daughter. It was bad enough she was involved in this mess on some level; she didn't need to add to the rumor mill by appearing to be intimate with him.

Fortunately, there were no questions other than those pertaining to the accident, and the MPs left as soon as they'd filled out their account. Jonas had wordlessly supplied the offered clothing, then changed himself. While she was in the bathroom hanging up her sodden uniform, Sam had heard the sound of clinking glass. She didn't have to wonder what the sound was. How often had she heard the sound in her life? She wouldn't class her father as an alcoholic, but since her mother had died, Jacob Carter had increasingly turned to the bottle for companionship.

Sam remembered how she and Mark had gauged the severity of their father's missions by the number of times the glass was filled. They had a code of sorts, ranging from a "one glass" assignment to a "seven glass" one. From the sound of things, Jonas was going for a record full bottle.

Once she'd rejoined him in the kitchen, Sam helped herself to a tumbler of whiskey, hoping it would help her warm up. Silently, she listened as Jonas recounted tales of his missions, realizing no platitudes she could speak would take away his pain. The best she could do was lend an ear and wait until he'd talked himself out.

The bottle was nearly empty when she helped him to his bed. He was so out of it, he didn't even try to change their agreement on the sleeping arrangements, for which she was grateful.

Now, she wasn't feeling so grateful. She dreaded facing him, hung-over and no doubt embarrassed. That was if he even remembered the events of the night before. Sam didn't have much time to collect her thoughts before Jonas emerged from the bathroom, rubbing hands over his pale, scruffy face. Clutching the blankets to her chest, Sam sat on the couch watching him move to the refrigerator and remove a soda. She watched in fascination as he downed the can in one long gulp. Jonas belched, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Behold the glory that is man," Sam quipped, causing Jonas to whip around at the sound of her voice. His eyes grew wide for a moment, then he relaxed.

"I forgot you were here," he said.

"Yeah, my clothes hanging all over your bathroom weren't much of a clue, were they?"

"I think I was too busy looking down to notice."

"Um, yeah. I heard that. Are you okay?"

"I will be after about two or three more of these," he said, holding up the can of Mountain Dew.

"Ugh. Reminds me of high school," she said.

"_*You*_ were hung-over in high school?"

"There are other reasons for wanting a jump-start other than alcohol," she said. "Besides you have no idea what I was like in high school."

Jonas took a seat at his kitchen table and looked into the living room at her. "I'd say either a hell-raiser or the kid who sat at the front of the class with an answer for everything, and loved to prove the teacher wrong."

"How do you know I wasn't both?" she smiled.

Jonas' eyebrows raised for a moment then resumed their normal position. "I guess I don't."

"Well, I was neither, actually," she said looking down. "I was the quiet kid who sat in the middle. The one you never would have noticed."

Jonas stared at her. "Oh, I think I would have noticed you."

Sam felt uncomfortable with his words, speechless and suddenly unsure of where to look.

"You don't take compliments very well, do you, Captain?" Jonas said, a slight grin coming to his lips. Sam searched for some snappy comeback, but her mind was drawing a blank. Jonas stood, heading to the refrigerator once more. "I'm sorry I dumped all that shit on you last night. Not exactly an ideal first date."

Sam found her voice again. "Well, since it wasn't a date in any sense of the word, I guess it doesn't matter if it was ideal or not."

"I suppose not," he said, sounding a little sad. Now why the hell did she have to sound so waspish? He was trying to be civil and she was being bitchy!

"Look, Jonas, I'm sorry. That was uncalled for. I think maybe I just better get my things and go." Sam stood, starting to fold the blankets.

"Leave them," he said. "I'll get them later."

She was about to argue when she thought better of it. The sooner she was dressed and out of there, the greater her chances were she'd leave with some amount of dignity still intact.

Crossing before Jonas to get to the bathroom, he smiled at her. "Hey, Generalette, that T-shirt looks a hell of a lot better on you than it does me."

Sam felt herself growing embarrassed once more and quickly ducked into the bathroom. Just her luck out of the few things he remembered, that horrid nick-name had to be one of them.

Sam pulled on her blouse, disappointed her skirt and jacket were still damp. They were mis-shaped from the rain, and the clothing hung askew on her body. There wasn't much she could do about it, but she didn't appreciate the fact she looked like the one who'd gone on a bender. Maybe if she had her uniform dry cleaned. . . .

"Generalette? You just about done in there? I think I need. . . ."

Before Sam could exit the bathroom, she heard the sounds of Jonas vomiting again. Peeking out the door, she saw him leaning over the kitchen sink. It was a disgusting thought, but she guessed it was better than using the floor or a garbage can.

"Um, the bathroom's free," she said, stepping into the kitchen.

Jonas gave a little cough before spitting into the sink "Thanks, but you're a little too late." He ran the water, splashing his face and taking a drink from his hand before rinsing the basin. "I'm really sorry about this," he said. "Usually, I at least sleep with a woman before she sees this side of me."

Sam couldn't help the laugh that escaped her. "Then I _*do*_ feel honored. And don't feel so special. I've seen worse."

Jonas accepted the towel she handed him, burying his face in the terry cloth. "God, I hope that's the last of it."

He looked so pathetic, Sam couldn't help but be moved. It reminded her of the times when Mark would come home from college and she had to "straighten him up" before their father ran into him. "Go lay down," she ordered, pushing him toward the sofa.

"It's okay, really I'll just. . ."

"You'll just lay down. You're white as a ghost." Immediately, she regretted her words, knowing they'd remind him of the friend who'd just died. Quickly changing the subject, she opened his refrigerator, searching for some juice. There was the remains of a twelve pack of beer, and a twelve pack of Mountain Dew.

"Ah, night time pain reliever and day time pain reliever," she commented to herself as she looked for something remotely healthy. "Jonas? Don't you have any juice?"

"There might be some in the freezer," he said, words slurred because his hands covered his face. Opening the door, Sam found one lone can amongst the glacier of built-up frost.

Without asking permission, Sam rifled through his cupboards, looking for a pitcher. Finally, when she was about to give up, she spotted a battered, half microwave-melted container. She smiled to herself, thinking what a typical bachelor he was. In a way, it was a bit comforting to discover he was a regular guy. Even the display she'd been witness to earlier was reassuring in it's own fashion. It usually wasn't at this stage you saw how a person really lived. She highly doubted Philip would have been caught dead puking in front of her! Again, Sam felt herself smile, thinking what polar opposites the two men she'd met last night were.

Retrieving what looked like a relatively clean glass, Sam returned to the living room with the pitcher of juice. "Sit up and drink this," she said, thrusting the glass in front of his face.

"Thanks, but I really don't think I could keep it down," he said, turning his face from her.

"It'll make you feel better, trust me."

Opening his eyes, Jonas stared at her. "You always this pleasant in the morning?"

"Always."

"Good thing we didn't sleep together then, isn't it?"

"You have no idea," she felt herself starting to grin.

Sitting up, Jonas took the glass and took a tentative sip. "Okay?"

"Drink it all," she demanded. Sighing, Jonas downed the orange juice in one swallow.

"Do I get a gold star next to my name now?"

"Yes, you were a very good boy," she said taking the glass from him, placing it next to the pitcher on the floor. "You really should drink the rest of that," she said, indicating the juice.

"I'll see what I can do," he said, laying down once more. There was an awkward silence, as Sam glanced at a clock, noticing it was 0900.

"Ohmigod! I had no idea it was so late! I'm supposed to meet my father for breakfast at 1000!" Sam began rushing around, looking for any items she may have left. "Have you seen my shoes?"

"Under the table?" Jonas suggested. Sam ducked her head but didn't see any shoes. How could it have gotten so late? And why couldn't she find her damn shoes? Looking back out into the living room, she spotted them under the coffee table. She didn't recall placing them there, but she'd been pretty wiped out by the time she'd laid down. Practically running, Sam snatched her shoes out from under the chipped Formica coffee table. She couldn't believe she was late and she was noticing cheap military-issue furniture! Hopping from one foot to the next, she slid on her pumps.

"Hey, it's been fun," Jonas said, starting to rise from the couch.

"Yeah, best night I've had on this base," she smiled. Jonas started to get to his feet but Sam stopped him. "That's okay, I think I can find my way out. I guess I'll see you around, huh?"

"Probably not."

Sam was about to question his statement, but she was in too late to ask him what he meant. "Um, I really have to get going," she said, inching toward the door. "Bye, Jonas."

Sam rushed in the door of the Officer's Club, searching the room for her father. She saw him near the back of the nearly deserted dining room, looking none too happy. His mood didn't seem to change when he spotter her, either.

Walking quickly to the table, Sam had an apology ready, but Jacob cut her off before she could even begin to explain.

"You're late. I would think having been in the service as long as you have, you'd know the meaning of punctuality."

"I know, Dad, and I'm sorry, but. . ."

"Sit down. We need to order before they start serving lunch."

Sam bit off her explanation and quietly slid into her chair. Where was the proud man who'd shown her off to the entire base and his friends? It wasn't like she was _*that*_ late!

"Dad," she began.

"No, Sam. I have obligations and you being late will now cause _*me*_ to be late."

"Fine," Sam said, standing and throwing her napkin on the table. "I'm terribly sorry I couldn't find the Officer's Club and have caused you to be late. General Carter, Sir!" She snapped off a salute, turning to leave.

Jacob grabbed her wrist. "Sit down, Sam. You're making a spectacle of yourself."

Sam looked around the room, noting she was indeed attracting some unwanted attention. Taking her seat once more, she noticed her father had tossed a report on the table.

"Are you sure this isn't the reason you're late?" he asked.

Sam looked at the name on the top of the report and swallowed. Looking slightly further down the page, she saw her own name.

"Did you think I wouldn't see this?" Jacob said, picking up the file, practically shaking it at her. "Jonas Hansen? Christ, Sam, I thought you were smarter than that. Especially after I warned you about him!"

Before she could answer, a waiter arrived with water, taking their order. Sam took a sip to relieve her suddenly dry mouth. "Dad, it's not what you're thinking."

"Oh? And what do you think I'm thinking?"

"You think I sle. . .spent the night with him." There was a silence as he waited for her to continue.

"Didn't you? I tried calling you last night. Make sure you made it to your quarters okay."

Sam paled. "You don't have to check up on me you know!"

"Apparently I do!"

Sam lowered her voice, hoping her father would take the hint. "He was upset, Dad. The last man of his unit died yesterday from battle wounds, and he was a friend. All I did was talk to him. Same as I would do for anyone in that kind of pain."

Jacob sat back in his seat, slightly calmer than he was a moment ago. "I guess I can't fault you for caring."

"I slept on the couch, and he was in his bedroom," Sam said, hoping to lay his fears to rest.

"Why did you have to stay at all?"

"It was late, I was tired," she shrugged. "It made sense at the time."

Jacob placed his hand over Sam's, causing her to meet his gaze. "Sammie, I'm not trying to run your life, as much as you might think. It's just that I've seen men like Jonas before. They're charming, they're needy, and you have the need to give. His like a stray puppy, and I don't have to remind you how many of _*those*_ you brought home!" Sam looked away, knowing her father knew her a little too well. "Sam, all I'm saying is be careful. Jonas Hansen is trouble with a capital "T." I just don't want to see you get hurt."

Sam looked down and nodded. She knew her father was right. Hell, she'd spotted Jonas as bad news at the party, or else she wouldn't have been so rude him. Lifting her eyes to her father once more, she added,

"I know, Dad. I don't think you have to worry. Jonas seemed pretty embarrassed he'd spilled his guts to me. I doubt I'll be seeing him again. Besides, my leave is over in two weeks and then I'll be in Colorado. I would think that would be far enough away," she teased.

"Well, far enough away from Hansen, but a little too far for me. I don't see you enough."

"Yeah, but as you've told me on countless occasions, Peterson is where I need to be to get where I'm going. Besides, I have to finish my thesis for my doctorate. I'd have it if it wasn't for the Gulf War."

"You sure you're going to be able to handle all of that? Your assignment and school?"

"I did it before."

"Yeah, but now you're a captain. You're going to have more responsibilities."

"I'll make it work, Dad. If I don't get my Ph.D. in quantum mechanics, NASA won't take a second look at me," she said placing her hand over his, squeezing gently. "No matter who my father is!"

Once most of the tension had been diffused, they continued to talk amiably throughout their meal. It had always been like that, Sam realized. Well, since her mother died anyway. Her father would start out with an accusation that usually ended up being his concern for her. Why they had to fight before they got to that point was beyond her, but it was the way they were. Even Mark, although, he was slower to forgive than she was. Sam wondered if he realized how like his father he was.

Sam and Jacob stood outside the Officer's Club as he checked his watch. "Honey, I know I promised you a tour of the base, but I really have to get to that meeting with Colonel Fischer. I'm going to have Philip take you."

"Dad, it's not necessary! I can find my way around!"

"No arguments! This way, the next time I invite you for a meal, I expect you to be on time!" he smiled at her. Sam knew it was her father's way of match-making again, but after just getting back into his good graces, she didn't think she should push another fight with him.

"Fine. How about I come with you to your office and we can start from there?"

"Sounds good. I'm sure Philip would love to show you around," he said as he escorted her to his car.

_*And I'm sure he'd love to do anything_ *you'd*_ like him to do!*_ Sam thought to herself.

Sam tried to concentrate on what Philip was telling her about Eglin Air Force Base, but found her mind wandering. Basically, it was like all the bases she'd been to, just set up a little differently. And she'd been to many of them. Mostly because of her father's postings rather than her own.

Philip was droning on about the military history of the area when he must have seen how bored she was.

". . .And this is where the Great Kazoo met Fred Flintstone and we made our first interstellar contact." Sam looked up then and Philip smiled.

"Gee, and I didn't think you were listening."

"And I didn't know there was going to be a quiz at the end of the tour," she smiled back. "I'm sorry, Philip, but this excursion was more my father's idea than mine. You've seen one Air Force base, you've seen them all."

"Now, that's not necessarily true," he said.

"Okay, so this is one of the largest bases and it's warmer here than in Alaska. Look, Philip, I appreciate the fact you've gone out of your way to do this for my father, and me, of course, but it's really not really what I want to see."

"And what did you want to see?"

"Oh, I don't know. What's town like? I mean I just got back in the States. I don't really want to spend my leave on a base that could be anywhere."

"Tell you what, how about I take you to dinner tonight and I'll show you the finer points of Valparaiso?"

Now she'd done it. She was trying to find a reason to excuse herself from his attention, and she'd practically asked him to take her out. "Um, that would be nice, except, I. . . ."

"Oh, come on, Samantha! It'll be fun! I should have thought of it sooner! We can go for dinner, maybe some dancing?"

She had to admit, it sounded like fun. More fun than she'd had lately, at any rate. The only trouble was who she'd have to spend time with. What was the big deal? It wasn't like she was making a commitment! And like she'd told her father earlier-she'd be leaving soon anyway.

"Sounds great, Philip. Thanks for the offer," she said, hoping she appeared more sincere than she felt.

"Great! I'll pick you up at 2000?"

"Fine." Sam hesitated a moment then added. "If you don't mind, I think I'm going to head back to my quarters. No offense, but I think I've seen enough."

"Of course I don't mind! I'll give you a lift, then I'll know for sure where to pick you up."

Sam nodded in agreement, wondering how long it was going to take from the time Philip dropped her off until her father knew they had plans for the evening.

Walking Sam to her door, Philip noticed a box waiting by the entrance. It was obviously a flower box, and Sam picked it up, staring at it with confusion. It was addressed to her, but she couldn't figure out who would send her flowers. At first she thought it was Philip, after all, he was the one to notice the package. Plus he'd insisted on driving her back. Maybe he wanted to be present to see her reaction to his gift.

"So, you already have a secret admirer I have to worry about?" Philip joked, looking as if he was waiting for her to open the box and see who they were from.

"Don't be ridiculous," Sam said, looking for any sign on the outside of the box who they might be from. "They're probably from my father," she said, knowing there was no way Jacob Carter would ever waste the money on something so frivolous.

"Aren't you going to open them?" Philip asked.

Sam juggled the box, digging into her pants pocket searching for a key. "I think I'll just wait until I'm inside," she smiled weakly at him. She wasn't about to let him see her response in case he was playing dumb and he _*was*_ the sender of the gift. Maybe she'd ruined his surprise, but she didn't want to have to pretend to be impressed.

"Okay," he said, shrugging his shoulders. See you later?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, still a bit distracted by her mystery present. She entered her room, staring at the box. She wasn't sure she wanted to open it. No one had ever sent her flowers. No one. Not even when she was in high school and she should have gone to the prom. Her father had been in the process of transferring bases, and two weeks before the Junior Prom, they moved.

Not that she would have had a date anyway. They hadn't been at the last base long enough for her to make friends, let alone get to know a boy well enough for him to ask her to the dance. She'd tried to rationalize it was for the best, that she'd been spared the pain of parting from a boyfriend when she moved. Somehow, all the "logical" reasons there were for not caring about the prom didn't matter when she'd missed an important part of her youth.

"Just open the damn box, Sam!" she said aloud. Placing it on the bed, Sam removed the ribbon securing the top and pulled off the upper box. Opening the tissue, she revealed a bouquet of wildflowers which took her breath away. The gift wasn't overly romantic as roses would have been, and yet the gesture was so sweet, she felt tears coming to her eyes. Searching through the paper, she finally found a card with a single word on it: Thanks.

Sam sat down on the bed next to the box in total shock. There was no name, but she didn't need one. She couldn't believe Jonas could be so thoughtful, or romantic. This certainly wasn't the same man who baited her all evening with snide comments, calling her "Generalette," or the guy who was barfing in his sink this morning. So which one was the real Jonas? The guy her father warned her once again was trouble? Or this man, the one who already seemed to know how to get to her heart?

Okay, she was getting _*way*_ ahead of herself here. The majority of the time she'd been with Jonas she'd been irritated, taking his sarcastic comments and firing them back at him. There wasn't one thing about the man she found attractive. Well, maybe aside from the physical. His slightly unruly sandy hair and scruffy beard _*did*_ remind her of a stray, especially after the reference her father had made. That didn't mean she was attracted to him. In fact, if she stuck with the "stray" analogy, he was like a dog who'd been mistreated-all teeth and unapproachable. So, maybe he'd let down his guard enough for her to touch him, but that didn't mean he was going to make a good pet.

Sam laughed, and shook her head. "Maybe I should start calling him 'Rover,'" Picking up the box of flowers, she momentarily thought about throwing them out. It would be the smartest move she could make, but she just couldn't do it. No matter what the reason, Jonas was making an attempt to be civil, and perhaps apologize. She couldn't just spit in his face by tossing out his gift. Why in the hell did this have to happen now? She was only thirteen days from her new assignment. Did anything ever go right in her life?

The atmosphere of the restaurant was definitely aimed at romance. From the subdued lighting and soft music playing in the back ground, to the candles on the tables, everything seemed to project intimacy, and it was making Sam uncomfortable. Not that the food wasn't good-it was excellent-but the whole night was turning out to be more of a "date" than she'd planned. And the worst of it was, she couldn't get her mind off Jonas.

She'd lost track of how many times she'd been distracted from what Philip was saying because she was mentally recounting her night with Jonas. Philip was telling her about his air-strike in Iraq, which in turn led Sam to remember how upset Jonas had been when his own mission had ended in failure. It was no one's fault, really, just that the enemy was more prepared than anyone had thought. Listening to Philip brag about his exploits only seemed to underscore how little he'd seen of the dark side of the war. Something she did have in common with Jonas.

"I was lucky," Philip said, pouring more wine into her glass. "I didn't get involved until the tail end, and then it was only the one mission. You saw a lot more action than I did."

Sam was silent for a moment, then lifted her glass to her lips, taking a sip. "Yeah, I did." She was kind of hoping he'd ask her about it. Not so much that she felt the need to get anything off her chest, but it would have been nice if he'd shown some interest in listening to her for a change.

The waitress came by with the check and as he handed her his credit card, Philip smiled. "So, Samantha, how about if we go work off a little of this dinner?"

Somehow the thought of spending any more time with him was the last thing she wanted. "Philip, would you mind terribly if we didn't go dancing? I don't know where this headache came from, but I don't think hitting the dance floor is going to make it go away."

Philip actually looked disappointed, and for a moment Sam felt guilty about her lie. "It must be the wine," she said. I'm not used to drinking, and with the party last night. . . ."

"I understand," he said. Then he shook a finger at her. "But I'm holding you to a night out before you head to Colorado Springs!"

Sam just smiled weakly. Maybe something would come up that he'd be too busy before she left.

The drive back to the base was quiet, with only the minimum of conversation. "I'm sorry I've been such a downer this evening," Sam apologized.

"You haven't at all," Philip answered a little too quickly. No doubt he'd planned on getting lucky that evening and he was trying to show he wasn't disappointed.

"It's just taking me a little longer to get used to things than I thought. It's weird, I wasn't in Saudi all that long; you wouldn't think it would be that difficult to get acclimated again."

"Seeing death, poverty, the utter despair most of the people there live in is bound to have an effect on you, Samantha."

Sam looked over at Philip. It was one of the first genuinely "caring" statement she'd heard from him. Perhaps she'd misjudged him.

"But you have to put that behind you. You're home now. You can forget all about it."

Sam felt her temper flare. "Forget about it? How can we just forget about it? We go in there like gang-busters, bomb the hell out of these countries and then we're supposed to just come home and act like there's nothing wrong? You maybe got to have this 'glory run' of a mission where you come out looking like a hero, but the majority of the people who were there don't have that luxury. We have to deal with what we did and what we saw, and I'm sorry, but one nice Italian dinner isn't going to make me forget!"

Philip was speechless, whether from her outburst or her views of the war, Sam didn't know, but she didn't care. This guy was as big of a pompous ass as she'd first thought. Fortunately, they were close to her quarters and they didn't have to try to fill the uncomfortable silence with useless conversation.

The car had barely come to a halt when Sam had her hand on the handle and was stepping out. Leaning back in the car to grab her purse she said, "Thank you for a lovely dinner. I'm sorry things didn't work out." She was about to slam the door when Philip cried,

"Wait! Samantha! Can't we talk about this?" Shoving the car into "park," he jumped out his door and came around to meet her. "Look, obviously we have a differing opinion on what happened over there, but does that mean we can't work things out?"

"What _*things*_ do you want to work out, Philip? I'm leaving in a little less than two weeks. Why do you even care if we come to some sort of agreement?"

"Well, Samantha, I was hoping maybe we'd keep in touch, once you're settled. I know it's far way away, but people have long distance relationships all the time."

Sam gaped at him. "Philip, we've had _*one*_ pseudo date! Don't you think you're rushing things just a bit?"

"Maybe, but I like you, Samantha. I know if given the chance you'd like me too. Your father does."

There it was. Her father's little hand-picked choice for a mate. What did her father promise him if he should succeed in wooing his daughter? A promotion? Cushy job? The whole idea made her sick. Just the thought her father felt he had to find her a husband made her ill. Wasn't she a good enough person that she could find a man on her own? If indeed that's what she wanted?

Sam's voice was quiet and controlled as she spoke to Philip. "Then perhaps you should see about dating him. I'm sorry you're little plan to win the General's daughter didn't work, but I'm sure you'll get over it. There are a lot of officers on this base. No doubt they have daughters who can get you what you want. Good night, Major Tarkin." With that Sam turned and stalked off to her quarters, leaving Philip completely at a loss for words.

Sam couldn't calm down. God, he'd had some nerve! If there was one thing she couldn't stand it was being manipulated. Her father excelled it and now Philip thought he'd try his hand as well! She was pacing around her room, walking in circles at the end of the bed. She needed to walk where she could move. She didn't care where, she just needed to get out of the confines of her room. Quickly changing into a pair of jeans and a T-shirt, she slid on a pair of sneakers, tying them as she headed for the door.

She had no particular destination in mind, but soon found herself retracing the steps she'd taken that morning when she'd left Jonas'.

_*Why are you going over there?*_ she asked herself as she lengthened her stride. She was still angry and walking as fast as she could was helping to burn off some of the adrenaline.

_*I just want to thank him for the flowers,*_ she told herself. _*If he wanted to be thanked, don't you think he would have signed the card?*_

"He's just going to deny he sent them," she said aloud, stopping a half a block from his house. This was absurd! Why did she want to subject herself to his biting comments again? Hadn't her night been bad enough? Besides, it was getting close to midnight. He was probably asleep, or drunk or both.

She started to turn when she noticed a light come on in his kitchen. Okay, so he was up. What was her attraction to this guy, anyway? Just because her father didn't like him? Well, at the moment it seemed like reason enough. Gathering her courage, she walked the short distance and knocked on his door.

"Who is it!" she heard him yell.

Sam started to leave, then stopped on the last step, turning, she called out, "it's Sam!" When he didn't answer, she added, "Sam Carter?"

Suddenly the door flew open. "What are you doing here?" he demanded.

Taken aback, Sam retreated a step. "Um, well, I was out for a walk and I kind of just ended up here. I wanted to see if you were okay."

"I'm fine. Why would you think I wouldn't be?"

"You weren't looking too hot when I left you this morning."

"That? I hate to disappoint you, Generalette, but that was nothing."

"I guess I was lucky then."

"You have no idea," he almost smiled, quoting her from that morning. They stood there, him inside the screen door, her on the porch, for what seemed ages.

"Well, I guess I'll be going then. Sorry if I bothered you." Sam turned to leave and was halfway across the street when she heard an aluminum screen door slam and the sound of running feet.

"Where you headed, Generalette?"

"I'm just going to finish my walk," she said, picking up her pace. Jonas matched her stride, keeping up with her.

"I don't recall inviting you along," she said.

"And I don't recall asking you to stop over and see if I needed my hand held again."

Sam stopped, placing her hands on her hips. "I wasn't checking up on you. I. . . ."

"What?" he asked, turning and walking back to her. "You were what?"

Sam looked down at the sidewalk. "I guess I was looking for someone to talk to." she glanced up at him, a sheepish look on her face. "I thought maybe you could be my sounding board tonight." Jonas didn't say anything for a long time, and Sam felt herself growing angry again. Only this time it was with herself for letting her guard down long enough for this man hurt her. She turned to walk away, but as she did, she felt a hand on her arm.

"Come on," he said. "Let's go to the beach."

The full moon reflecting off the low surf was breathtaking, and just seeing it, made Sam feel better.

"I like to come here at night the best," Jonas confessed. "It's usually deserted and there's just something about the gulf at night."

Sam had to agree, she was already feeling the tension drain from her body. They walked in silence, but it was a comfortable one. She could tell Jonas was waiting for her to say something, but now, it seemed trivial, almost juvenile to have gotten so upset.

"So, what crisis could Daddy's Little Girl be in that he can't fix?"

Sam turned and slapped him in the face so hard, Jonas took a step back. "God, you really are a bastard!" she yelled. "I thought maybe after listening to you last night you might be able to return the favor, but I guess you're just a little too self-absorbed, aren't you?" Sam started running down the beach, but he quickly caught up with her.

"What the hell was _*that*_ all about?"

Sam wiped at an errant tear. She was not about to break down in front of this asshole!

"Look, Sam, I'm sorry! I was just kidding!"

She looked up at him then. It was the first time he'd called her by her name. "I know you think you're being funny and cute when you call me 'Daddy's Little Girl,' or 'Generalette,' but you have no idea what my life has been like!" Sam took a breath and practically whispered, "and I'm not going to tell you because it's going to sound like I'm some whiny teenager. So, let's just forget I said anything. And I'm sorry I slapped you. I kind of have a tendency react first, and think later."

"I was acting like a jerk, so I'd say I got what I deserved." When she didn't respond, he continued. "If you ask any of my shrinks and yes, I meant that to be plural, they'll tell you it's a defense mechanism." He shrugged his shoulders. "So sue me."

Oddly enough Sam found herself smiling. "We're both so busy pushing the other away, it's amazing we're still standing here."

"So tell me, already."

Sam sat down on the damp sand, and Jonas followed suit. Taking a deep breath she started. "It's not any one thing, really. I'm just so tired of people manipulating me, and I guess the head of that list would be my father." She felt a little traitorous talking about him this way, but he *was* at the heart of her problems. "I love my Dad, I really do, but I wish he'd stop treating me like a child! Christ, even last night he's calling me his 'baby girl!' And that party! Talk about embarrassing! To be trotted out in front of not only a good portion of the brass, but my new C.O. as well! Dad's the one who got me into Peterson AFB," she confided.

"Hey, if I had someone who could pull some strings, I'd take advantage of it," he said.

"But that's the point! I _*didn't*_ ask him to get me in! Sure, it's the next logical step in my career, but I wanted to make it on my own merits, not because my father played golf with General Moorman back in '72! And then there's Philip," she said, shaking her head.

"Philip?"

"Major Tarkin," she clarified.

"Oh, Dadd-your father's right-hand man. I saw you dancing with him last night."

"Yeah, at my father's 'request.' Plus, Dad arranged to be busy so Philip ended up giving me a tour of the base. I guess I can't really blame Dad for ending up going on a date with him, though."

"Oh?" Jonas asked, sounding surprised. "You were out with him tonight? By any chance is he the reason you showed up on my doorstep, ready to chew nails?"

Sam grinned. It was a pretty apt description. "It started out okay, but as the night wore on, I just couldn't take his boasting, and his attitude about our involvement in the war." Sam didn't want to admit to Jonas he also played a part in sidetracking her thoughts. She didn't understand herself why she felt drawn to him. Especially when he'd aggravated her so much the night before.

"Well, isn't that amazing," Jonas said, reaching down to take a handful of sand.

Sam turned to look at him. "Why do you say that? Do you know him?"

"No, not personally, but I've had 'encounters' with his kind before. He comes in, has one easy run that gets publicized because it looks like this war was a cake walk for America. So, he comes out looking like a hero. You never get to hear about the guys who didn't make it because they had faulty intelligence." Jonas turned away from her, angrily throwing the handful of sand held. Sam put her hand on his arm.

"I know," she said quietly. "I couldn't just sit there and let him ramble on about how now we can forget all about our involvement like all we'd done was bust up a school yard fight."

"You let him have it?" Jonas smiled.

"Oh, yeah. I'm sure I'm going to hear all about it from my father tomorrow."

"Not necessarily," Jonas said. You might have embarrassed him enough that he'll keep his mouth shut. I doubt he wants it all over the base how you put him in his place."

"And don't you be the one starting that rumor!" Sam said, poking him in the chest.

Jonas' face was the picture of innocence. "Me?, why Generalette, I'm surprised you'd even think such a thing!"

"Well, I can't claim I know you well, but I know you'd love to have a crack at Tarkin and his kind as much as I did." Sam found she didn't want to talk about Philip anymore. "You care if we change the subject?"

Jonas was a bit surprised by her sudden switch. "Uh, sure."

Sam stood, brushing the sand off her jeans, offering him a hand up. "Let's walk some more." They wandered for a time before Jonas broke the silence.

"Something else on your mind?"

Sam looked over at him, then looked out at the water. She wasn't sure how to bring it up, so she just blurted it out. "Jonas, what did you mean this morning when I said I'd see you around and you said 'probably not?'"

Jonas' eyebrows raised, and he blew out a breath, shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know, nothing I guess."

"Come on. Tell me."

"I guess I meant that Daddy would find you better people to play with, and he did."

Sam snorted. "Yeah, right." They walked a little further, then Sam stopped. "I don't think that's what you meant."

"Look, Generalette, I think I know what I meant!"

"You were thinking about killing yourself, weren't you?"

Jonas looked away. "Why would I do that?"

"Well, for one thing, the last man of your team died yesterday. And on top of it he was your friend. And you weren't there with him."

"Thanks for reminding me," he said, kicking at the sand.

Sam put her hand on his arm again. "Jonas, I'm not trying to upset you. I just want the truth." She watched him look out at the sea once more, blinking away tears.

"I was their leader, for Christ's sake! I'm the one who ordered them to their deaths! It's not right I should be the one left alive!"

"So, by killing yourself you'll bring them back?"

"No, but at least we'll all be together. Well, maybe not. I'll be in Hell. Can't be any worse than here, right?" He gave her a weak smile, then ducked his head. "I shouldn't be laying all this on you. You already paid your dues listening to me whine last night."

"I didn't listen to you whine," Sam said, her voice thick with unshed tears. She couldn't imagine what he must be going through. It was bad enough when members of her unit had died and she hadn't really known them. She couldn't fathom the despair she'd feel if they'd been friends.

Jonas started to move away from her, but before he could leave, Sam found herself winding her arms around him. It took a moment, but Jonas eventually wound his arms around her as well, almost crushing her.

"Don't kill yourself, Jonas. You really feel you owe them something? Then live. Remember them and the sacrifice they made." Sam felt him pull her even closer. She couldn't hear him crying, but her shoulder was getting wet. After a few minutes, Jonas pulled back, hastily wiping at his eyes.

"Some tough guy, huh?" he tried to joke.

"Tough as they come," she smiled. "Walk me back?" Sam took his hand, as they walked silently though the streets of the base. Upon reaching her door, she turned to him,

"Thanks for listening to me bitch," Sam grinned. "I feel a lot better."

"I think I still owe you one," he said.

"Oh, I don't know. I got something today that makes us even," she smiled, not wanting to embarrass him further by thanking him specifically for the flowers.

"Sam, I'm sorry I was such an asshole when we met, and well, I guess I was tonight, too."

Sam put her fingers on his lips. "It's okay. I wasn't very nice to you either." She was staring into his eyes, and for a moment the world disappeared. She wasn't sure who moved first, or if it was mutual, but she soon found herself kissing him. Her arms slid over his shoulders as his arms slipped around her waist. It wasn't erotic, or mind-blowing, just. . .sweet, with a promise of things to come.

Jonas pulled away and smiled at her. "Thanks, Sam. I'll see you."

She watched him walk away into the night, pools of streetlight illuminating him every block or so. At least with this parting statement, she felt a little more confident. Sam was fairly sure he'd put the idea of suicide off. For now, anyway.

Rolling onto her side, Sam noticing the sun streaming in the front window of her quarters. She was surprised she'd slept at all, let alone so late. Returning to her position on her back, she ran a hand through her hair. What the hell was wrong with her even _*considering*_ Jonas? She'd spent half the night fantasizing about him, and the other half berating herself for even thinking of seeing him again. She was this close to her Ph.D. How could she be so smart and so stupid at the same time? _*Because you didn't learn love, or attraction, or need out of a book,*_ she thought to herself. If she had, she'd recognize the danger signs instead of glossing over them, rationalizing her behavior until it fit what she wanted to believe.

Yes, Jonas was messed up, but all he needed was someone to care, right? Someone who would truly listen to him, be there for him. Wasn't that what she was good at? Taking care of the walking wounded? Look at her father. She may have been a teenager when her mother died, but who was the one who picked up the pieces and kept their family together? Who ran interference between her father and her brother when they fought? Who held her father's hand when he became maudlin and told him everything was going to be all right? Her father might tease her about ministering to strays, but she learned her lessons at home, when her father was the first stray she tried to heal.

Well, she wasn't going to pursue Jonas. If he wanted to see her, that was one thing. She'd just told her father she didn't want to get involved with anyone when she was leaving in two weeks. That was just as true for Jonas, as it was for Philip.

Rolling out of bed, Sam grabbed her shower kit and headed to the bathroom. As she passed the entrance to her room, she noticed a folded piece of paper had been shoved under the door. Opening it, she read:

Meet me at the hangers at 0930. If you don't come, I'll understand.

Again, the note wasn't signed, but Sam didn't have to wonder who'd sent it. Glancing at the clock, she saw she'd have to hurry if she was going to shower and make it on time. Was she going to go? Biting her lip she looked at the note again. He said he'd understand. Would he? And why did she care if he _*did*_ understand or not? She could always say she didn't know who the note was from since it was unsigned. But he knew she'd realize who'd left it, otherwise he _*would*_ have signed it.

Sam remained immobile as she contemplated the note. It wasn't like she had anything else to do. She was sure she could find something to occupy her time, but the request to meet at the hangers meant something to do with flying. Although it hadn't been that long, she missed being in a plane. That decided for her. She might be nuts to see Jonas again, but she was going to have a good time going insane.

It was surprisingly quiet in the hanger, but then most training flights were probably underway. A few repairmen haunted the expanse of the building, looking up when she passed by. Not wanting to attract any more attention than necessary, she'd worn her flight suit, hoping whatever Jonas had planned it wasn't against regulations.

"You made it!" a voice said brightly, coming from behind her. Turning, Sam was surprised by the man now before her.

"You shaved!" She said, surprised at how much it changed his appearance.

Jonas rubbed a hand over his now smooth cheek. "Yeah, it was time to get rid of 'hiatus face,'" he grinned. "So, what do you think?"

"Very handsome," she smiled, blushing at her frank appraisal of his new look. He _*did*_ look good, she thought, and it wasn't just getting cleaned up. The dark circles under his eyes were beginning to fade, and his brown eyes seemed more alive than the day before.

"So!" she said, stuffing her hands into her jumpsuit pockets, "what's up?"

"We're going to be, actually." Sam gave him a quizzical look. "I have to take a flight test. Standard after a medical leave," he said looking down at his shoes.

"Yeah, I know," she said. "What's that got to do with me?"

"Well, I hoped you'd consent to be my navigator."

"Me? Why me? How'd you even know I was qualified?"

"I asked around," he said shyly.

Sam raised her eyebrows. "I suppose I should be flattered."

"But you're not?"

"Well, I find it a little disconcerting you could find out what I do on a strange base."

"Come on! Look who your father is!"

Sam smiled. "Okay. I guess you've got me there. So this is all legit? I mean neither of us is going to get into trouble over this, are we?"

"I checked it out. You've got plenty of flight time in from the Gulf. This'll be fun! Frankly, I'd feel better if you were at my back. And you _*are*_ dressed for the occasion."

Damn, he could certainly be persuasive when he wanted! One flash of his smile and she felt herself crumble. "Okay! All right! I'll do it!"

"Great! I'll finalize things," he said, giving her one last grin.

Sam shook her head. He'd certainly seemed a changed man. Was this the same guy she'd witnessed yesterday? She was almost out to the runway when Jonas came jogging up behind her.

"Are you ready for this?"

"You tell me! I hope you're not still thinking of suicide and you're taking me with you!"

Jonas stopped and made her face him. "You don't really think that, do you?"

Sam shuffled her feet, then looked up at him. "Honestly? It did cross my mind. But then I figured if you were going to go out in a blaze of glory you would have stolen a plane, not gone through proper channels."

"You always this logical?"

Sam gave him a sheepish look. "Yeah, sorry."

"Hey, nothing to apologize for." Jonas stopped then, gripping her arms, staring her in the face. "Sam, I'm not going to tell you in one hour long walk on the beach you've done what months of therapy haven't been able to do. I _*do*_ want you to know though, talking to you seemed to bring it all together. You're right about my men. Killing myself isn't going to bring them back. There's. . .there's this burning pit in my stomach whenever I think of them. I don't know that it's ever going to go away, but you've helped me see there's a chance. I need to get back in the saddle again if I'm going to make it through this."

His face was so earnest, Sam couldn't have said no to him if she tried. "Then let's go, Flyboy!"

They climbed into the cockpit, Sam taking her seat behind Jonas. "So how come you didn't go for being a pilot," he asked, strapping himself in.

"Too much work," she smiled.

"Somehow, I think you would have welcomed the challenge."

"I'm good with numbers, calculations. I know pilots need to be too, but I'm just better at this."

Conversation ended as they went through their pre-flight check. Sam was surprised how good it felt to be back in a plane again, and not as a passenger. When she left the Gulf, she thought if she never saw the inside of a cockpit again it would be too soon, but she'd missed this.

Cleared for take-off and taxing down the runway, Sam began to wonder if maybe she hadn't been a bit hasty in agreeing to navigate. After all, she'd never seen Jonas fly, and he seemed to be taking a rather aggressive approach.

_*No need to try and impress me,*_ she thought as the plane sped up to escape Earth's gravity. Jonas' lift-off was practically text-book.

"Nice, Captain Hansen," she complimented him.

"Thank you, Captain Carter." Sam smiled at his use of her new rank. It sounded strange, but she was looking forward to getting used to it.

As they rose above the cloud level, Sam released a breath. "I don't think I could ever get tired of this, do you?"

"No, it's pretty damn amazing," he agreed. "Once you cross that barrier of clouds, it's almost like going to a whole new world." Jonas was silent for a moment, then he added, "you ever think about that, Sam? What it would be like to see another world?"

"All the time," she said. "Why do you think I'm trying so hard to get into NASA?"

"Yeah, but that won't happen in our lifetime," he sighed. "Going to other planets, I mean. _*When*_ you get in you probably won't even get to go to the moon."

"You never know. I plan on having a _*very*_ long career!"

A voice came over the radio, "okay, Captain Hansen, you appear to be in position. You can start your maneuvers. The on-board computer will record your actions. Good luck."

"Roger that," Jonas replied. Over his shoulder he called to Sam. "Hang on!"

Jonas guided the plane through a series of spins and turns Sam could have sworn were a bit tighter than they needed to be, but she remained silent. If he was trying to see how tough she was, she wasn't going to give him the satisfaction of getting sick.

His landing was a little rough, but still within acceptable parameters. Climbing down the ladder Sam felt exhilarated. Nothing got her blood going like flying. Apparently it had the same effect on Jonas as he swept her up, swinging her around.

"Whoo-hoo! Was that something or what! Not bad for a head case, huh?"

"Jonas! Put me down or they won't reinstate you!"

Jonas sobered as the flight instructor approached him with a form. "Good job, Captain Hansen. Take this to your C.O., and pending medical approval, looks like you're back in."

Jonas snapped to attention, giving the major a crisp salute. "Thank you, Sir!" As soon as the officer left, Jonas turned to Sam. "I get my final physical tomorrow, so I have the rest of the day free. You doing anything?"

"Actually, I should spend some time with my father. It _*is*_ the reason I'm spending my leave here."

"Oh," Jonas said, obviously disappointed.

"How about dinner?" Sam offered.

"Picnic on the beach?"

"Sounds good. I'll bring the hot dogs," she smiled.

The stars were just starting to come out as Sam and Jonas split the last hot dog.

"God, I'm full," Sam said, lying back on the sand. "I think that's more hot dogs than I've eaten my whole life!"

"Well, if you'd brought something else, you wouldn't have had to fill up on wieners," he teased.

"I guess I figured you'd bring something."

"I did," he said holding up the remains of a twelve-pack of beer.

"I was thinking of something a little more substantial," she smiled.

Jonas lay down next to her gazing up at the sky. "Well, we're both full, so I guess that's all that matters, right?"

"Mmmmm," she said twisting her head to look at the stars.

"Not quite as nice as your meal last night, I'm sure."

"No, this one was much better," she said. "At least the company is better."

"Aw, Generalette, you're going to make me blush."

"I was talking about the stars," she laughed, turning before he could grab her, but she wasn't quick enough. Or maybe she was purposely slow, hoping he'd catch her.

"I'll make you see stars," he said, closing the distance between them. Jonas' lips descended on hers and Sam stopped struggling, instead, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. When they finally broke for air, she smiled,

"Oh yeah, there's a few more stars up there than there were a few minutes ago."

"That's just because it's getting darker," he teased before capturing her mouth once more. His kisses were growing more demanding and Sam knew they had to stop before things started getting of hand.

"Jonas, we have to stop," she breathed.

His hand was making it's way under her shirt as his lips moved down her neck. "Why," he muttered against her tender skin.

"Because I'm leaving soon," she sighed as his hand reached it's goal of her breast. His mouth was moving lower, in an attempt to join his hand.

"Then we better not waste any more time, " he said, nudging her blouse away to kiss her collar bone.

Sam sat up, pushing him away. "Jonas, I'm serious! I'm going to be half-way across the country, and I don't want to be thinking about someone I might see a couple a times a year!

"It's not a lifetime commitment, Sam," he said, reaching for her again.

"And I'm not interested in a one night stand."

"Well, by my calculations it would be a twelve-night stand."

Sam got to her feet, facing away from him. "That was a really shitty thing to say!" Her anger was getting the better of her again. She supposed she couldn't blame him for getting the wrong idea when moments before she'd had her tongue down his throat. Turning back to him, she said,

"Look, I didn't mean to lead you on or anything. I like you, Jonas, as surprising as that may be to both of us. I had a great time with you this morning and tonight, but I'm just not that casual when it comes to sex. It's not like I'm looking for the ring either, I just think it's important to know someone more than forty-eight hours before I sleep with them."

Jonas stood running a hand through his hair. "You're right, Sam. I'm sorry I pressured you. I guess I just got a little carried away. Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? How blown away I am that you're even here with me?"

Sam was speechless. No one had ever told her she was beautiful. Although she could count her experiences with men on one hand, none had ever made her feel very attractive, not like Jonas did. The way he looked at her made her insides turn to Jello. So why was she pushing him away when he made her feel more special than anyone ever had?

"No one's ever said that to me before," she whispered, staring at the ground.

"I didn't mean to embarrass you," Jonas said. "but it's the truth." Sam looked up at him then, unsure what to say. "Come on," he said, putting his arm around her shoulders. "I'll take you back to your quarters."

Once again the journey from the beach to her room was made in silence, neither wanting to say the wrong thing to break the fragile balance between them.

Upon reaching her door, Jonas removed his arm from her shoulders. "Okay if I give you a good night kiss?" he asked, seeming hesitant for the first time since she'd met him.

"You better," she said, taking a step closer to him. It started out chaste, but Sam pressed her tongue against his lips, asking for entrance to his mouth, which he eagerly granted. When they broke apart, she rested her forehead against his. "Stay," she said.

Jonas backed up, clearly confused by her mixed signals. "I don't understand. Ten minutes ago I was a bastard, and now you want me to spend the night?"

"I guess I freaked out a little. It's been a while," she confided.

Jonas held her at arms length. "Sam, you don't know how much I want to come in, but I don't want you to regret this tomorrow. You don't have to prove anything."

"I'm not. I don't want you to go," she said, this time looking him straight in the eye. Without another word, she took his hand and led him into her room.

Sam woke with her head on a man's chest, and for a moment she panicked, wondering how he got into her bed. Then she smiled, remembering how he got into her bed. Fingers were twining in her short hair, causing her to look up.

"Good morning," Jonas said, working his hand through her hair to caress her neck.

"Yes, it is," she smiled, moving up his chest to kiss him.

Kissing her back, he asked, "no regrets?"

Sam pretended to look thoughtful for a moment. "Nope. None that I can think of. How about you?"

"Well, let me think," he said, placing an arm around her shoulders, drawing her closer. "I'm in bed with a beautiful blonde, whose father happens to be the C.O. of this base. A situation I can ultimately use to my advantage. No, I don't think I regret anything either."

Sam slapped his stomach. "That's awful!"

"Well, it's what you were thinking, right?"

"I guess," she said, playing with the hair on his chest, unable to look into his eyes.

"Sam, I knew if I didn't say it first it's what you'd think. Why can't you believe I'm here because I like you? That I'm incredibly attracted to you," he said, tipping her head up to look at him. "And that you're the sexiest damn navigator I've ever flown with," he smiled, angling his head to kiss her. Sam started to laugh, pulling away to take a breath.

"What's so funny?" he grinned at her.

"I'm just thinking about you in bed with the average navigator. And I guess when you think of it like that, I am quite a catch!"

Jonas flipped her over, pinning her to the bed. "You're quite a catch regardless," he said, lowering his lips to hers. "And I think it's time I reeled you in."

Sam woke to the sound of the phone ringing. It was late, after noon, she guessed, and she was alone. Picking up the phone she spotted a note propped up against the pillow Jonas had used.

"Hello?" she asked, starting to read the note, paying little attention to who was on the line until she realized it was her father.

"Sam? Did you forget our appointment?" Sam racked her brain. What appointment did she have with her father? They were going to meet for lunch and discuss the possibility of visiting Mark. Slapping her forehead, she realized she'd completely forgotten. Sam glance at the clock, noticing it was going on 1300.

"Um, I'm sorry, Dad. I'm not feeling good," she lied. Quite the opposite, really, she couldn't remember when she'd felt better.

"I'm sorry to hear that, Kid. You should have called."

Sam squeezed her eyes shut, searching for an excuse. "I was sleeping. I guess this really knocked me for a loop," she said. Well, it wasn't a _*total*_ lie.

"I used to feel kind of out of it when I returned from a long mission too, remember?"

"Yeah. I'm sure that's all it is. Can we do this tomorrow?" Sam heard Jacob sigh.

"I suppose. I was hoping we might do this later if you were feeling up to it."

"I think tomorrow would be better, Dad."

"All right," he agreed. "But we don't have a lot of time to work with here."

"I know. We'll get together tomorrow, I promise."

"Hope you feel better, Kiddo."

"Thanks, Dad. Bye." Sam couldn't hang up the phone fast enough so she could concentrate on the note Jonas left her. Unfolding the paper she was surprised at his neat handwriting. For some reason she assumed he'd have a messy scrawl she'd spend an hour deciphering.

Sam, I didn't want to wake you, but I had to meet with my C.O. Hopefully I'll get reinstated today! If you're not busy tonight, I'd like to see you. Call me later? Jonas.

Sam clutched the note to her chest, flopping back onto her bed. She couldn't believe how giddy she felt. She was too old for this kind of thing, wasn't she? Isn't this something she should have been experiencing in high school? Well, since she hadn't had the opportunity then, what was wrong with indulging in it now?

After their less-than-stellar meeting, Sam was surprised at what a sensitive lover Jonas turned out to be. Although she didn't have much to compare him to, he'd certainly made it to the top of her list of favorites. Oh, she wasn't deluding herself into thinking Jonas was perfect. He was far from it, but she didn't think he was as bad as her father had made him out to be. Perhaps if he got to know him a little better. . . .

"Bad idea," she said, sliding over to the edge of the bed and standing. "I think this can remain Sam's little secret for now," she spoke aloud. After all, how far could things go in eleven days?

Sam picked up the phone, dialing the number Jonas had left for the third time. Where the hell was he? He told her he didn't have any other business to attend to after his meeting and it was now getting late. Maybe he'd changed his mind about seeing her and just wasn't answering his phone.

_*Well, fine!*_ Sam thought. Maybe he was more like the other men she'd known after all! He got a good screw out of her and now it was on to greener pastures. She was about to slam the phone down when someone picked up on the other end with a breathless,

"Hello?"

"Jonas?"

"Sam? Oh, God. I was hoping you'd call!" His voice sounded slurred, and she didn't have to see him to know he was drunk or fast on his way. What the hell could have happened today?

"I've been trying for sometime," she said, wondering why she was angry. It wasn't like they'd had a specific date or anything.

"I just got back. I was out 'celebrating,'" he said with a bitter laugh.

"Celebrating? What happened?"

"I'll tell you when you get here. You are coming over, right?" His voice sounded almost desperate.

"I don't know, you sound like you're half in the bag. I really don't need a repeat performance of the other night."

"Please, Sam. I really need to see you." It was his using her name that clinched it. It was probably a big mistake, but she couldn't just leave him when he sounded so upset.

"Okay," she sighed. "I'll be over in a few minutes." Hanging up the phone she shook her head. "At least _*try*_ to keep some perspective," she told herself as she headed out the door.

Sam had barely knocked when she found herself being dragged into Jonas' house and on the receiving end of a passionate kiss. Tasting the alcohol on his tongue, Sam pushed him away.

"How much have you been drinking?"

"Not much, really," he said trying to draw her into his arms again, but Sam walked past him.

"Obviously enough," she said, turning to face him. "Jonas, what happened? This morning things couldn't have been better. Now. . . now I don't know what."

"I was celebrating my 'retirement,'" he said with a sigh, slumping into the same kitchen chair he'd occupied the other night. Following his lead, Sam slid into the chair next to him.

"Retirement? What are you talking about?"

"I'm through, Sam. Finished. Washed up. Out of the Corp. Unfit to fly." Jonas lay his head down on the crossed arms he'd rested on the table.

"Jonas, this doesn't make any sense! Your flight test went fine!"

"Ah, but my psych test didn't," he said, sitting up again, looking her straight in the eye. "Not enough to be discharged, but enough so I can't fly."

Sam stared at him, unsure of what to say. Finally she reached over and took his hand. "Flying isn't everything, you know."

"Oh, sure, you can say that because you have the choice! You told me last night how hard it was going to be for you to give up flying to pursue your scientific interests, but you still have the _*option!*_" he argued.

"Is this permanent?" she asked. "No chance you're ever going to be allowed to fly?"

"Oh, I suppose eventually if my head is shrunk enough they might give me another chance, but I don't see that happening," he said. Jonas stood and crossed over to the refrigerator, retrieving a can of beer.

"Want one?" he offered.

"No, and I don't think you do either."

"You're wrong about that. I definitely need another." Opening the can, Jonas swallowed half the contents in one gulp. "You know what my C.O. had the gall to say? He said I should 'hang in there,' that this wasn't the end. He said, 'the Air Force has spent a lot of time and money on your training, and we don't like to lose.'"

Sam moved to stand in front of him. "See! Jonas! Give yourself some time! For Christ's sake, no one expects you to get over this like it's nothing! You lost your team, your friends. It's going to take some time to heal!"

"Thanks for reminding me," he said, finishing off the can. He was reaching for another when Sam stopped him.

"Please don't have another one," she said placing her hand over the one he had on the handle of the refrigerator.

"One night together and already you think you can dictate to me how much I drink?"

Sam tried to remember he was more than half-way to being drunk and probably didn't mean the words he threw at her. That didn't mean they didn't hurt. She knew all too well the next words from his mouth were going to be an apology. Wasn't it the same pattern her father used to follow when he'd had too much?

"Look, Sam, I'm sorry," he said reaching out to touch her face. Damn she hated it when she was right! Why couldn't he continue to be an asshole so she could get mad and storm out of his house? Leave him to drown his sorrows in the rest of his twelve-pack? "It's just so hard to think I might never get to fly again," he said, his voice sounding almost like a choked sob.

Taking him into her arms, Sam held him tightly. "I know," she soothed, wondering how self-conscious he was going to be over this confession. She stood there for a few minutes before pulling back slightly. "You know this is going to look better tomorrow, don't you?"

"I don't know about that," he said, clearing his throat. "Of course there's one way it could look better."

"Oh? What's that?"

"If I wake up and you're here," he said, almost shyly.

Sam smiled. "Well, as long as I don't have to sleep on that horrible couch again you've got a deal."

Sam was surprised how quickly the rest of her time at Eglin went. Between visiting with her father and spending every moment she could with Jonas, the two weeks flew by. She still hadn't mentioned seeing Jonas to Jacob. She'd come to have a bit of a truce with her father, and she didn't want to upset the fragile rapport they'd established. For the first time in her life he was treating her like an adult and she knew he'd be reprimanding her like a teenager if he knew about Jonas.

What surprised her most was Jacob's lack of vocalization on the subject of Philip. Maybe Jonas had been right and he hadn't mentioned the disastrous date. As for Jonas, he'd seriously entered therapy, and Sam wondered how much was his actual desire for help or his desire to appease her. She hadn't nagged him on it, but there was no doubt she expected him to do something to help himself. In a way, his attempt was more of an assurance of his feelings for her than any late night confessions of affection. She only hoped once she was in Colorado he wouldn't quit his sessions.

That wasn't the only thing she was concerned about when she left. What was going to happen to them when she left? Would she hear from him again? Or would he end up just being a bonus on her leave? She knew she didn't want to lose touch with him, but what about Jonas?

It was her last day at Eglin and Jacob insisted they have dinner together at his house. What she really wanted was to be with Jonas, but she couldn't stand her father up on her last night. She would just have to see him afterward.

Washing the dishes, Sam was surprised to see Jacob pick up a dish towel and start drying.

"You feeling okay, Dad?" she teased.

"You did most of the work," he said, picking up a plate, swiping white cotton over it's surface. "I invite you to dinner, and you end up making our meal."

"You know I don't mind," Sam said dipping her hands into the soapy water and retrieving a glass. "I guess my cooking skills haven't improved while I've been gone."

"You can't be the best at everything you know," her father smiled.

"No, but I can try."

"You know, that's always been your problem," he said taking a bowl from the draining rack.

"Wanting to be the best? I don't see that as a character flaw," she said.

"There's nothing wrong in striving to be the best, Sammie, but there comes a point where you have to know when to step back and admit you can't do everything."

Sam shook the soap from her hands, facing Jacob. "Dad, I never thought I'd hear you say something like that! What did you tell Mark and I when we were growing up? We were Carters, and Carters never quit!"

"I'm not saying you shouldn't give your all, Sam, but you have to realize you can't fix everything, no matter how hard you try."

"I don't know what you're talking about," Sam said, being purposely obtuse.

"Yes you do. After you mother died you gave up doing what _*you*_ wanted. You sacrificed your happiness to make sure Mark and I were okay. Well, what about you? When do you start looking out for you?"

"I am looking out for me, Dad! I'm in the Air Force, I'm working on getting into NASA, things are great!"

"And how much of joining the Air Force was your idea, and how much of it was to please me? I'm not stupid, Sam. I know I wasn't the ideal parent. Far from it. Hell, I doubt I'll ever say or do the right thing where you kids are concerned, but I do try. I hope you didn't join up just because you felt someone in the family had to carry on the tradition."

"Dad, we had this conversation when I enlisted. This was how I was raised! It's not like I was getting into something I didn't understand!"

Jacob put the damp towel on the counter and started putting dishes away. "I realize that, but what I want to know, is how much of it was your desire for a career and how much of it was a bid for some attention from me."

Sam was silent, looking at the floor. After a moment she said, "you know how I've always wanted to be part of the space program."

Jacob sighed and faced his daughter. "And you know I'm proud of you, Sam. But I would have been proud of you if you'd taken the lowest-level civilian job you could find if you were happy."

Sam looked up at her father, but now he was the one looking away. He was proud of her? She'd hoped he was, but other than his overt display at the party, he'd never said the words. And she'd always assumed it was only her accomplishments in the military he'd chose to acknowledge.

"Dad, I don't know what to say."

Jacob cleared his throat. "That's why we don't have these little heart-to-hearts. I'm going to miss you," he said, pulling her into a hug. Sam was even more shocked. Her father wasn't the hugging type. In fact, she couldn't remember the last time he'd embraced her.

The back of her throat began to itch as she fought not to cry. "I'm going to miss you, too."

Jacob pulled back, flustered at his show of emotion. "You sure you have to go now? We could watch some TV or something."

"I really should go. I haven't packed yet, and I want to get a good night's sleep. I doubt I'll sleep much on the flight to Colorado."

"You're right. Well, I'm glad you came over. If nothing else so you had a chance to work on your cooking skills! I just wish Mark would have been able to come," he sighed. "You know, I would think he could put aside his differences toward me to see you."

"You forget, I sided with the 'enemy,' so I'm not high on his list either."

"It's just not right," Jacob said, shaking his head.

"No, it's not, but maybe he'll see that someday." Looking around her father's sparsely furnished living room, Sam felt slightly guilty about leaving him alone. Jonas was waiting for her, and if she was honest, she wanted to spend as much time with him as she could.

"I really have to go, Dad."

"I know. I'll drive you to the airport tomorrow?"

"That would be great. Bye." Sam kissed him on the cheek, departing quickly before she got emotional herself. She'd never felt this close to her father, and was surprised she was actually going to miss him when she left. Maybe they'd come to have the 'normal' family life she'd always dreamed of after all.

Jonas was waiting for Sam on her bed when she returned to her quarters.

"How did you get in here?" she asked, dropping her keys onto the dresser.

"I have my ways," he smiled, getting to his feet to give her a hug.

"And what if my father had brought me home?"

"Then I'd be hiding under the bed right now!"

Sam laughed, hugging him back. "You probably would be, too. Jonas, you know why I haven't said anything to my father about us seeing each other. I'm really not hiding you. I'd just as soon not get into it with him about my seeing anybody, right now. He'd give me this lecture on getting involved with someone when I'm going away. Even though it's what he was doing with Philip. He's got kind of a warped sense of what's right when it comes to me."

Jonas dragged her over to the bed, pushing her onto it as he leapt beside her. "And _*are*_ we involved?" he asked, moving his mouth to whisper in her ear. The feel of his breath on her neck was sending shivers down her spine.

"You tell me," she said, in equally hushed tones.

Jonas leaned over to kiss her. "Oh, yeah."

Sam kissed him back, winding her fingers in his hair when suddenly she pushed him away. "Let's go for a walk."

"You were just on a walk from your father's," Jonas protested.

"Yeah, but I want to go to the beach one more time. The only water I'm going to see for a while is going to be a swimming pool." Sam was already on her feet, grabbing her jacket before Jonas could dissuade her.

"Okay, but we're taking this," he said, pulling a blanket off her bed.

Sam's eyes sparkled. "I like the way you think, Captain Hansen."

It wasn't late, but the beach was deserted which suited Sam just fine. Her hand was entwined with Jonas' as they walked in silence, close to the surf. She'd taken her shoes off, and occasionally a wave would break over her feet, pulling the sand out from under her. That's how Jonas made her feel, she realized. Just when she thought she was on solid ground, he'd come washing into her life, sweeping away some of her foundations, making her feel unstable. Not that it was a bad thing; she could do with a few surprises, and he'd certainly provided them.

"How come you're so quiet?" Jonas asked. "I thought you'd be blathering on about going to your new assignment."

"I don't 'blather,'" she smiled, knowing she *did* have a tendency to go on a bit when she was excited by something.

"Still, I didn't expect you to be so 'reserved.'"

Sam stopped and faced him. "I guess I'm wondering what happens next. With us." She forced herself to look up into his eyes.

Jonas smiled, pushing a few strands of errant hair out of her face. "You mean are we going to see each other again?"

Swallowing, Sam managed a, "yes."

Jonas pulled her into a hug. "You think moving half-way across the country is going to stop me from seeing you? I guess you don't know me very well after all."

"I think that's the problem," she said. "I don't."

"I suppose that's something we're going to have to work on, isn't it? Besides, there's no law saying I can't put in for a transfer."

Sam stepped away from him. It was hard to see his face due to the lack of light. He _*sounded*_ sincere. "You'd do that for me?"

"Actually, I'd be doing it for me." This time she could tell he was smiling by the tone of his voice.

Wrapping her arms around him she said, "I'd like that."

"Come on," he said, taking her hand and pulling her inland a bit. Sitting on the sand, he drew her down to sit before him, her back resting against his chest. Jonas wound the blanket around them and Sam felt as if she was in a cocoon.

Sighing, she lay her head back against his shoulder. "This is nice," she said as his arms tightened around her.

"I wish you weren't going tomorrow," he whispered, kissing her ear. She smiled at the tickling sensation, then sobered.

"Me too. But I am anxious to start my new assignment. As much as I've enjoyed my leave here, it's time to get back to work. And to my studies if I ever want those letters behind my name."

"I have no doubt you'll do it in record time," he said, moving his lips lower to kiss her neck.

"Speaking of 'record time,'" she smiled, sitting up, pushing him away, "is your express purpose in life to get me into bed?"

Jonas pretended to think. "Lately? Yes."

Sam laughed and allowed him to wrap the blanket around them again. "It's nice to have goals!"

"On the subject of 'goals,' I've been thinking about what I'm going to do now that I can't fly."

"Jonas. . ." Sam started to protest.

"Hear me out," he said, placing his hand over her mouth, removing it when she lightly bit his finger. "All right! I get the hint, but just listen, okay?"

Sam sighed. "Go ahead."

"I'm not going to give up my counseling, but I can't live on the hope I may be reinstated one day. So. . . . I've looked into Special Forces. Maybe Black Ops."

"Black Ops?" she cried. "But that's so dangerous! Jonas, I'm sure there's. . ."

"Hey, my turn here, remember?"

She slumped against him, waiting for him to continue. "Sam, the Marines may be looking for 'a few good men,' but Special Forces is looking for a few good nuts."

"Jonas! You're not crazy! Slight emotional problems don't mean you're wacko!"

"If nothing else, the pay is great," he shrugged.

"And if you're dead, how are you going to spend it?"

"I'll list you as my 'next of kin.' You can spend it."

Sam struggled to get out of his embrace. "That's not funny, Jonas!" He held on tight and for a moment Sam panicked, causing her to fight him even more. "Let me go!"

"No, Sam, I'm not letting you go. I told you that earlier. You're going to have to try harder than that to get rid of me." Jonas relaxed his grip and Sam settled down.

"I just don't want you doing anything stupid," she said, feeling tears start to well up. "I know the reputation those guys have and I don't want to see you end up like them. Promise me you'll think about this some more before you actually do it?"

Kissing the top of her head, Jonas said, "I promise. We don't have much time left, so let's not fight, okay?"

Sam turned in his arms so she was facing him. "I thought that was the girl's line."

"Hey, it's the Nineties. I can do the 'sensitive guy' thing," he smiled.

Sam pushed him back against the sand, kissing him soundly. "Yeah, you can."

Sam sat on the plane, willing herself not to cry. Her father was still being so considerate to her, she was tempted to ask if he'd been taken over by an alien. He bid her a quick good-bye, claiming that long partings were not the way of the military. She smiled at the thought Jacob had to leave before he became emotional.

Smoothing down the skirt of her dress uniform, reminded Sam of Jonas. How the last time she'd worn the outfit had been the night they'd met. So much had happened in the course of two weeks, it could have been a year. She was amazed the dry cleaners had managed to reshape her uniform so it actually looked decent. Fussing with the material kept Sam from thinking too much about her parting with Jonas earlier that morning.

They'd left the beach before things could get too out of hand, but once they'd made it back to his house, they made up for lost time, and the time they would be parted. She told her father she needed to get home to get a good night's sleep, and she was surprised he didn't comment on how tired she looked. Well, she _*had*_ been in bed, she just didn't get a whole lot of rest.

Arriving at Eglin, she had no idea her parting would be so bittersweet. Actually, she was glad she and Jonas had said their good-byes in the wee hours of the morning before she returned to her quarters. Saying farewell in the airport would have been her undoing. It was hard enough when he casually kissed her and wished her good luck, as if she were going off to a job interview.

The flight attendant was going through her required speech as Sam buckled her seat belt. Opening up the folder she'd brought with her, she began to study the layout of Peterson Air Force Base. She'd been there while she'd attended the Air Force Academy, but she wanted to refamiliarize herself with the base. She liked Colorado Springs. Of all the places she'd lived, it was one of her favorites. Plus, the University of Colorado was a good place to finish her doctorate work. She just hoped all her credits transferred.

Thinking about her academic pursuits brought Jonas to mind once more. How he teased her saying it wasn't right she should be smarter than him. Sometimes she wondered if that was why she met so few men willing to date her. Theoretical astrophysics was a male-dominated field, but her fellow students just seemed so. . .well, boring. Did she fall into that category as well? It seemed as soon as some guy found out what she was getting her degree in, she never heard from him again. She couldn't help it. It wasn't like she chose to understand the periodic table like most people understood multiplication tables. She'd spent her life apologizing for her intelligence, but she wasn't going to any longer.

After her uneventful flight, Sam checked in at the base, received her housing assignment and a tentative schedule. She'd have a room mate, since unmarried officers didn't have the luxury of private housing. Sam found herself wondering how Jonas had managed to have a house to himself. He hadn't been at Eglin all that long. Perhaps he just hadn't been assigned a house mate yet.

Thanking the airman who'd delivered her to her new quarters, Sam hoisted her gear onto her shoulder, grabbing two other bags in her hands. She didn't have a lot of personal possessions, and she wanted to keep it that way. At least until she was settled a bit more permanently. And hopefully, that would be near Houston. She was about to retrieve her new key when the door opened, revealing a tall, dark skinned woman.

"Sam Carter?"

"Yeah," she said, lowering the bag on her right to offer her hand to the woman before her.

"Sheila Mason," she said, accepting her hand shake. "Let me help you with those," she offered, picking up the bag Sam had dropped.

"Thanks." Sam walked into the living room of the small house. "Nice," she commented, noticing several pieces of ethnic art gracing the room.

"No it's not," Sheila laughed, "but it's home for now. You know, when I got the word I was getting a roomie, and the name on the paper said Sam, I thought for sure someone had screwed up."

"Sorry to disappoint you," Sam smiled.

"Yeah, well, I'll get over it. Come on in! I'll show you to your room."

It was about what Sam expected. Actually, it was a bit larger than most rooms she'd been assigned. "Not bad," she commented, tossing her gear onto the bed.

"Base, sweet base," Sheila said. "So, where you transferring from?"

"Um, nowhere, recently. I was just at my. . .at Eglin for a leave. Prior to that I was in Saudi. Before that, I was stationed at Pope in North Carolina, but I was working on getting my doctorate."

"Wow. That's some rap sheet. I never was called to go to Saudi. Guess they didn't need meteorologists. So, was it as bad as I've heard?"

"Guess it depends on who you talk to," Sam said.

Sheila sat on Sam's bed as she started to unpack. "So, you got family or something at Eglin?"

"Yeah, my father," Sam said. She didn't want to go into details about who her father was. She'd learned early on it was best not to advertise the fact her father was well-placed when meeting new people.

"Got a boyfriend?" Sheila asked, causing Sam to stop and gape at her new room mate. "Hey, it's just best to get all the pertinent facts out of the way from the start," she smiled.

Sam felt her face growing warm. "I don't know if I'd call him a 'boyfriend,' necessarily." She couldn't believe how shy she felt. Most women would have had a dozen men by now, but she wasn't most women.

"Well, he must be pretty special," Sheila said cryptically, rising from Sam's bed, motioning her to follow her. In the kitchen a flower box rested on the table. This one was clearly addressed to her. What the hell was he thinking? She knew what kind of a budget Jonas was on, and flowers twice in a two week period where not part of it.

"Aren't you going to open them?"

"I. . .I don't know. I suppose I should," Sam said, clearly shocked at the gift. Untying the bow, Sam lifted the lid off the long box. This time she wasn't surprised to find roses, and she felt herself tearing up.

"Oooo, I'd say he was a boyfriend, girl! Read the card!" Sheila exclaimed, as excited as if the present had been for her.

Sam slid the card out of the small white envelope. _*Knock 'em dead, Generalette! I miss you already. Jonas.*_ Feeling her knees go weak, Sam took a seat at the kitchen table. She'd never been romanced. How did she deal with something like this? And how the hell was she supposed to concentrate on her studies when her mind was filled with him?

Sheila was looking at her expectantly, and Sam passed her the card, watching her as she read it. "Generalette?"

"He, uh started calling me that on the night we met," Sam explained. Sheila continued to stare at her, so she elaborated. "My father's a general."

"Oh. Got it. Kinda cute though," Sheila smiled. "So, your old man's a general, huh?"

Sam looked up at her new room mate. She'd barely known her for fifteen minutes so she was already bracing herself for some comment about how she got this assignment.

"My dad's a colonel. Not quite the same, but I know how you feel. At least he's in Oklahoma."

Sam felt herself relax. "I remember when Dad was a colonel," Sam smiled. Actually, I think it was worse than it is now. At least now he's not directly in charge of a single unit, so I don't get as much fall out."

"I hear that," Sheila sighed. "So, aren't you gonna put those things in some water? And don't you have a phone call to make?"

Sam felt the color rushing to her cheeks again. "I should." She stood as Sheila offered her a pitcher.

"Sorry, best I can do. We don't get a lot of flowers around here!"

"It'll be great, thank you."

"So, how long you know this guy?"

"We just met, actually. Two weeks ago when I got back from the Gulf."

"Damn, girl, you move fast!"

"A little too fast, if you ask me," Sam said arranging the roses in the plastic pitcher. The buds hadn't opened yet, but they still smelled wonderful. "I think if I'd been stationed on the base, or at least closer, things wouldn't have moved as quickly has they did."

She felt a little odd discussing her personal life with a woman she'd just met, but there was something about Sheila that made her feel comfortable. It was rare she met anyone she warmed up to quickly, and now this was two in as many weeks.

"You got a picture of Mr. Romance?"

"No, no I don't," Sam realized, sadly. Maybe she could get a service picture of him if nothing else. But she didn't want a likeness of him in uniform. She wanted one of the way she remembered him, relaxed, and on the beach. God, she missed him! And it hadn't even been a day! She wanted to call him, thank him for the flowers. At the same time, she didn't know if she could hear his voice and keep the emotions she'd held in check all day under tight rein.

"Hey, I don't think the guy sent you flowers to make you sad, Sam."

She smiled weakly. "I'm not sad, it's just hard, you know?"

"Yeah, I guess I do. Last guy I wanted to see more than once was in Florida. Not at Eglin, though. That would be too weird," Sheila smiled.

"Definitely would have been stretching the laws of probability," Sam agreed. I think I'm going to take these to my room. Carrying the pitcher to her bedroom, she set the flowers on the dresser. She'd unpack, get some dinner, then call him. Maybe by then she could talk to Jonas without breaking down.

Sam woke early the next morning, but Sheila was already up and dressed. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, Sam entered the kitchen.

"You always up this early?" she asked noting the clock on the microwave read 0500.

"Yeah," she said, toweling the perspiration from her face. "I like to get a run in before I go to work. Help yourself to anything in the 'fridge."

"Thanks. I'll pick up some stuff this afternoon," Sam said pouring herself a glass of orange juice.

Sheila poured a glass for herself and sat at the table. "So, we really didn't get much of a chance to talk last night with your call to Jonas and all."

"I did get a little carried away, didn't I?" Sam said sheepishly. "I can't believe how long we talked when I'd just seen him."

"Ah, young love," Sheila smiled. "So, what do you do?"

"Well, I'm starting at Space Command with deep space radar telemetry. Hopefully the work I do is going to coincide with my thesis which is on the effect of black holes on space and time."

Sheila made a motion of her hand skimming over her dark, curly hair. "Way over my head!"

"Well, hopefully I'm not in over *my* head. I want to finish my doctorate within the next six months. Hopefully by then I'll look a little better to NASA."

"So that's you're ultimate goal? To get to NASA?" Sheila asked, finishing off her juice.

"Yeah. I want to fly shuttles," she grinned.

"Wow, that's quite an ambition. So, you're a pilot, then?"

"Navigator, actually. So, along with everything else, I've go to keep up on flight time."

Sheila stood, wiping her face once more. "Sounds like you've got a rather full plate. How are you going to find time for that man of yours?"

Sam looked down at the table, toying with her glass. "I think I'm beginning to feel grateful he's in Florida!"

Sheila laughed. "Yeah, sometimes it can be a blessing! You mind if I hit the shower first?"

"No, go ahead. I need to press my uniform again anyway. My official meeting with General Moorman is at 0700, so I have plenty of time."

Turning back at the doorway, Sheila asked, "official meeting?"

"My dad arranged a 'little' welcome home party for me. Turns out Dad and General Moorman go way back and he introduced me. But please don't tell anyone. I've had enough crap from people thinking I've gotten preferential treatment because of my father."

Sheila patted Sam on the shoulder. "Hey, your secret's safe with me!" Glancing at the clock Sheila excused herself. "I've really got to get going, or I'm going to be late. We'll talk more later, okay?"

"Sounds good," she said, rising to rinse her glass. Leaning against the counter, Sam looked around the small kitchen. Sheila had made an attempt at decorating and the effect was welcoming. At least one of her fears had been laid to rest. The hardest part about coming to a new base was settling in, and Sheila had gone a long way in making her feel welcome. There might be a pain in her chest when she thought of Jonas, but things were going to be okay.

Sam was waiting outside General Moorman's office even before his secretary arrived. She was pacing when she showed up, and the woman gave her a reassuring smile, informing Sam the General was going to be delayed. It had been bad enough to wait the last half hour, now she was going to have to wait even longer.

"Patience is a virtue," she muttered to herself, recalling the words her father had drilled into her since she could remember.

"What's that, Captain?" the secretary asked.

"Oh, nothing, sorry."

The woman smiled in sympathy. "Is this your first visit to Peterson?"

"Uh, no. I did some work here when I was a cadet."

"Really?" she said, sounding impressed. "It's not too often we have cadets working on any projects."

"There was a problem with one of the satellites, and I came up with a solution," Sam said, shrugging her shoulders as if the answer had been as simple as repairing a VCR.

The woman was about to comment when General Moorman breezed into his office. "Good Morning, Sylvia. Thanks for holding down the fort." Accepting a stack of papers his assistant handed him, he turned to see Sam standing at attention.

"Ah, Captain Carter, right? Give me a minute to get things organized and we'll have our meeting."

"Yes, Sir!" Sam called, giving him a crisp salute. He smiled at the gesture, and returned it, releasing her from her tense posture.

Now she was seriously getting nervous. He seemed congenial enough, but how did she know? Any behavior she'd observed at the party was not going to be how this man operated on a day-to-day basis.

After another fifteen minutes, Moorman summoned her to his office, where she stood at attention once more.

"At ease, Captain. Please have a seat."

"Thank you, Sir."

"I've been looking over your record," he said, flipping through a file on his desk. "Very impressive."

Sam ducked her head, trying to hide her smile. "Thank you, Sir."

"I want you to be aware that who you're related to has no bearing on this assignment. I don't care if your father is President Bush, you're on my base because your skills will be an asset, is that clear?"

Sam felt herself relax at Moorman's words, but remembered to keep her spine straight as she sat in the chair before his desk.

"That's not to say your father didn't give me a bit of a nudge to look at your file, though," he smiled at her, and she wasn't sure what he was trying to say. Was he chastising her? Assuming she'd put her father up to pulling strings for her?

"I've known Jacob for a long time," the general said. "And no matter how much parental pride he has, he would never recommend you if you weren't qualified. What I'm saying, Captain, is you got here on your own, and it's you who's going to have to do the work to remain here."

"Yes, Sir!" Sam answered, wondering how many military brats had occupied this seat expecting their connections to carry them through.

"I understand you're working on getting your doctorate?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm going to be taking some night courses at the University."

"May I ask what your thesis is going to be on?"

"The effect of black holes on space and time."

Moorman raised his eyebrows. "Impressive. I can see why your father is so proud."

Sam looked down at her hands folded in her lap, shy once more. "Thank you, Sir."

"Well, Captain, I expect you to make Peterson proud as well. I'm assigning you to NORAD to put some of those theories on deep space telemetry to work. General West is head of the operation there, but officially you're still assigned to this base. Do you have a car?"

"Uh, no, Sir. Not yet."

"Transportation will be arranged. We have a number of people that commute there daily, so that shouldn't be a problem. I take it you're ready to get started?"

"Yes, Sir!"

Moorman grinned at Sam's enthusiasm. "I'll arrange for a car."

Sam was a little overwhelmed by the end of her tour of NORAD. She had no idea the facility was so large. So many of the rooms looked alike with their banks of monitors, she wondered if she'd ever find her way around.

Taking an elevator to level 6, her guide led her to a lab with the requisite monitors, as well as several computers. Sam noticed the screens weren't displaying the same near-Earth information as the equipment on the upper levels, but an area of space she didn't immediately recognize. Already she could feel her excitement growing. She relished the work she did for the Air Force like navigating an aircraft, but science was her first love. Now that things were calming down a bit in the Middle East, she planned on taking full advantage of her new posting to prove her theories.

"Captain Carter?" the airman serving as guide asked, barely drawing her attention to him.

"Yes?"

"General West would like to meet with you after you've settled in. Say about an hour?"

"Sure," Sam answered, sitting before one of the computers, completely engrossed.

"Good luck, Captain," the man wished her as he exited the small lab.

"Thanks," she muttered after he'd left. She began tapping away at the key board, becoming frustrated at the limitations of the program on the computer. Sighing, Sam set to work writing a new program, losing all track of time. She was half-way through her task when the phone rang. Absentmindedly, Sam picked up the handset.

"Carter," she answered, tucking the phone between her ear and her shoulder so she could keep typing.

"Captain Carter, I believe we had an appointment fifteen minutes ago?"

Sam swallowed, eyes growing wide. "General West?"

"I hope this 'oversight' isn't indicative of your usual conduct?" The harsh tone of his voice had Sam scrambling to her feet.

"No, Sir! I'm on my way, Sir!" Sam quickly hung up the phone, saved the work she'd done and was out the door within seconds. She had to ask for directions three times before she found the general's office, but managed to straighten her uniform and appear somewhat composed as she knocked on West's door.

"Come!"

Sam hoped her stride showed confidence, because she certainly didn't feel it. Standing at attention before her new C.O., she gave him a perfect salute. "Captain Samantha Carter reporting as ordered, Sir!"

"At ease, Captain," West said, releasing her from her tense posture. He declined to offer her a seat, so Sam merely relaxed her stance.

Leaning back in his chair, the general steepled his fingers. "Let's get the apology out of the way."

"I _*am*_ sorry, Sir. I was working on writing a new program so I could begin my work, and. . ."

West leaned forward, scanning her record. "Are you a computer programmer, Captain? I see nothing in your file that states this."

"Well, Sir, not specifically, no, but. . ."

"Then what makes you think you can come into a new position and begin fiddling with established programs?"

"With all due respect, Sir, I wasn't 'fiddling.' I wrote this program when I was a graduate student to help me further my research into black holes. It's a more efficient way to locate them. I know it works, because I've used it."

General West didn't seem willing to cut her any slack. "If this program is better than the system we're using, why hasn't it been brought to my attention?"

Sam shrugged. "I suppose because it's not public knowledge. It's just something I came up with for my own research."

West leaned back once more. "While I appreciate your modesty, Captain, I'd like to have a look at this program, and have my computer people to investigate it as well. You have my permission to finish writing it."

"Thank you, Sir," she replied, slightly miffed she now had to ask permission for something she'd done in college.

"I know personally you're interested in finding black holes, but we're looking for any anomalies in deep space. Keep that in mind while you're doing your research."

"Yes, Sir," Sam answered. West seemed to be a bit hard-nosed, but then she couldn't expect every commander she served under was going to be relaxed and welcoming. Her own father probably leaned more toward the General West end of the spectrum.

"Very well, Captain. Let me know when you're finished. Dismissed." West was perusing another file even before Sam executed her parting salute.

Standing in the back of her new lab, Sam watched as General West's "experts" ran through her program.

"This is amazing!" a man uttered.

"It's certainly more effective than the old program," a woman agreed.

Sam rolled her eyes, uncrossing her arms. Geeze! It wasn't like she'd discovered the cure for cancer! It was just a computer program!

The woman turned to Sam. "You say you wrote this to help with your homework?"

Sam smiled. "More or less. It's not like the standard programs don't work. I just 'tweaked' it a little. This is faster, a little more accurate."

"Well it's very impressive," the man said, standing to face Sam. Looking at the other technician he said, "this program could really improve our accuracy. I think we should recommend to the General it be implemented system-wide."

Sam looked from one person to the next. "You're kidding, right? I mean it's not that big a deal!"

"Captain Carter, I don't think you know what you've got here!" the woman said.

"Apparently not," Sam muttered.

"You'll get full credit, of course," the man told her.

Sam started to laugh, rubbing her eyebrows. "Okay. Whatever. Do you think I could get back to work, now?"

The man and woman exchanged glances, clearly unsure how to take her blaze' attitude. Sam _*was*_ excited she'd been able to make a contribution, but it just seemed like they were blowing the whole thing out of proportion. What would they do if she _*really*_ discovered something?

It was a short walk from her drop-off point, and Sam was grateful for the exercise. After being cooped up in her lab most of the day, she was just happy to see the sky. She wondered how she was going to handle working deep inside a mountain after months of working in the air. It was quite the transition. Had she made the wrong decision heading her career in a direction that didn't include flying?

Before she knew it, Sam was standing before her door, key in hand. Opening the door, she remembered her early morning promise to Sheila about groceries.

"Damn," she mumbled as she shut the door behind her.

"Gee, and I was hoping your first day had gone well," Sheila grinned, coming around the corner from the kitchen.

Sam jumped at the sound of her voice. "Guess I wasn't expecting you to hear that," she smiled. "I forgot to pick up some food."

"No sweat," Sheila said, waving her hand dismissivly. "What's mine is yours. So, how'd it go?" she asked, climbing onto the sofa, settling down cross-legged on the cushions.

Joining her, Sam smiled. "Good, actually. I've been assigned to NORAD."

"Hey, that's pretty big stuff! Congratulations!"

"Thanks," Sam said, looking down at her hands in her lap.

"So everything went okay?" Sheila pressed.

Sam blew out a breath. "Yeah, but I caused quite a stir." At Sheila's questioning glance, Sam continued. "All I did was install a program I'd written a year or so ago, and before I knew it, General West has some 'computer experts' down in the lab and they're going on about it like I discovered penicillin or something. They're even talking about upgrading the whole system."

Sheila's mouth dropped open. "The whole NORAD system? Damn, Girl! I should be kneeling at your feet!"

Sam laughed, pushing on Sheila's shoulder. "You're as bad as the rest of them. I feel kind of silly, actually. I mean I didn't _*do*_ anything! It's just a stupid program I wrote to help me with my research!"

"Well if that's the case, I have a feeling your thesis is going to make a few people sit up and take notice."

"Now _*that*_ would be cool," Sam sighed. "I just get embarrassed when I come up with something that's no big deal."

"But, Sam. . . ." Sheila tried to continue.

Sam got to her feet, heading toward her room, unbuttoning her blazer as she went. "You mind if we don't talk about this any more? I kind of had enough of it earlier."

"Uh, sure," Sheila said, watching her move out of the room.

Sam was half undressed by the time she got to her bedroom. Noticing the flowers as she entered, Sam saw they were starting to open up. Sitting on her bed, she reached out and touched a petal. God she wished Jonas was here! He'd laugh about the big deal everyone at NORAD was making over her. But just maybe he'd be a little proud of her too. Maybe he'd tell her he'd known she'd fit in. That's all she really wanted, was a place were she could contribute something. At least the attention she'd drawn today was from her efforts and not from being General Jacob Carter's daughter.

Glancing at the clock, she wondered if she should call Jonas. No, it would look like she was bragging, she decided. Really, all she wanted was to hear his voice, but she had to break away from him sometime. After all, he would be going back to active duty soon and who knew when she'd see him again.

Sam ran her fingers over the velvety petals of the roses once more, drawing a stem closer to smell the blossom's fragrance, hoping she was in Jonas' thoughts as much as he was in hers.

Two weeks had passed and Sam hadn't heard anything more from Jonas. She'd tried to call once, but there was no answer. Feeling a bit foolish, she hadn't tried again. Either he wasn't around or he'd found someone else to walk on the beach with. That image cut through her more than any pain from unreceived phone calls. Every night she checked the answering machine, hoping this had been the day he called.

Despite her emotional turmoil, career wise, things couldn't be going better. After the initial excitement she'd created, things were starting to settle down to a routine. Her classes were going well, and if things continued to go as smoothly, she'd have her thesis finished within three months. Dr. Carter. It had a nice ring to it she decided. She didn't need the possibility of adding a hyphenated 'Hansen' to it to make her happy.

Sam couldn't believe her thoughts were even headed in that direction! This weekend would be one month she'd known him, and half of that time she hadn't even heard from him! Still, she supposed she couldn't help her day dreams. And just because she hadn't heard from Jonas didn't mean 'things'-whatever they might be-were over between them.

Somehow Sam had managed to get the weekend off. As the "new kid" she was surprised to have been afforded such a luxury. It was Friday night, and walking toward her quarters, Sam tried to quell the hope there'd be a message-anything-from Jonas.

Opening the door, her eyes automatically darted to the answering machine whose diode glowed steadily. Disappointed, Sam did her best not to let it get to her, but Sheila noticed her mood.

"Look, maybe you'll hear something from him this weekend," Sheila tried to encourage her. "A guy doesn't send flowers like that one week and forget about you the next."

"Unless he's got a guilty conscience," Sam said, heading toward the refrigerator, withdrawing a beer. "I guess I just wish I hadn't heard anything from him at all. This would have been so much easier if I could have left him in Florida." Opening the bottle, Sam took a long drink, leaning against the counter. Even the beer reminded her of him. She didn't realize until she was at the check-out she'd automatically selected the brand Jonas kept on hand.

"Something came for you today," Sheila said, suppressing a grin. "Something from Eglin," she added.

Sam was paging through her mail. "Huh? Oh. Dad said he had some things of mine he was going to send." Looking around the room she asked, "where'd you put it?"

"In your room. It was kind of big to leave out here."

Tucking her mail under her arm, Sam picked up the beer and took another swallow. "Thanks, Sheila. I guess I better go see what he sent."

Turning the door knob, Sam let out a squeal.

"Hey, Generalette."

"Jonas? Oh, my, God! What are you doing here?" Sam barely managed to set her beer down before she leaped on the bed, pinning him back against the pillows. She didn't give him any time to answer before her mouth was on his, stealing what little breath he had.

Breaking apart he gave her a jaunty grin. "Hey, I thought you were shy!"

"I missed you so much! Why didn't you call?" she said, sitting up, her legs astride his waist.

"Last week or today?"

"Both!"

"I'm back in training," he said, running his hands up her arms. "This is the first break we've had. Plus, I wanted to surprise you!"

"Well you certainly did that! Do you have any idea how much I've missed you?" she asked, leaning forward to kiss him once more.

"Oh, I've got some idea," he smiled against her lips. Pushing her back slightly, Jonas ran a hand over her hair. "I've missed you too, Sam." Looking over at her dresser he said, "I think the roses have about had it."

Petals had showered down onto the gleaming wood surface, leaving a pitcher full of withered leaves and bare stems.

"I couldn't throw them out," Sam confessed. "They were my only link to you."

"Maybe I should get you some new ones," he said, pulling her down for another kiss.

"Jonas! They're too expensive! It was a lovely gesture, really, but I don't want you wasting money on something like that."

"Even if you're worth it?"

Sam blushed. "Yeah, even if you think I'm worth it." Sitting up again she brushed the hair back out of her eyes. "So, what kind of training are you taking? Extra flight time to get reinstated as a pilot?"

Jonas grew quiet. "I told you, Sam. Given my past medical history it's unlikely I'll fly again."

"But you said. . ."

"I know what I said. The reality of the situation is it's a slim chance at best. I can't live on that kind of hope. I have to keep busy or I _*will*_ go nuts."

Sam nodded her head in understanding. "So what are you doing?"

There was a pause before he answered, "Special Ops."

Sam climbed off him, moving to the edge of the bed, her back to him. "You told me you were just thinking about that."

"Well, at the time I was just thinking about it."

"It's only been two weeks, you couldn't have thought about it for too long."

Jonas let out a sigh and tried to move closer to her, but she moved further away. "Look, Sam, you were gone. You know I have no friends at Eglin. This feels right. I can make a difference with these guys!"

Sam bent her head, struggling not to let him see how upset she was.

"Sam?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"I want you to do something that makes you feel fulfilled," she said, then turned around to look him in the eye. "But does it have to be something so dangerous?"

"Not everything Special Ops does is dangerous," he said.

"Oh, please! How naive do you think I am? It's what they do!"

"I'm sorry, Sam, but for the first time since I got back from Saudi I feel like I'm doing something to make up for what happened to my unit, my friends."

Sam couldn't counter his argument. She knew he wasn't over the loss of his men, if indeed he'd ever "get over" it. She allowed him to pull her into a hug.

"I'm sorry, Jonas. I'm just worried about you, that's all."

"I'll be fine," he assured her. "I'm sorry I haven't called, but we've been confined to the base during the first part of our training. I'm not sure how we got this weekend off, but when I found out, the first thing I did was hop on a transport."

"And how did you know I was off?" she asked, smiling up at him.

"I didn't know, but I thought at the very least we'd have the nights together," he grinned. "So when I called and got your room mate, we set this up."

"I should be mad at both of you for stinging me along, but I can't help it. It was the best surprise I think I've ever had." Sam moved closer so she could kiss him once more. "I hope you've eaten," she said between capturing his lips, "because I don't intend to let you out of this bed until tomorrow."

Checking the time on the kitchen clock, Sam decided technically, it was "tomorrow." Reaching into the cupboard for a glass, she couldn't help the smile that kept surfacing as she thought about her night. It seemed they'd proved the old adage of "absence making the heart grow fonder" was true, even if it hadn't been that long. Sam let the tap run until the water turned cold, filling up her glass. She was taking a sip when she heard footsteps behind her.

"I thought I told you to stay in bed," she said, before turning around.

"I thought it would be a little crowded," Sheila said, leaning into the doorframe of the kitchen with her arms crossed. Sam choked on the water, causing both women to laugh.

"Sorry, I thought you were. . ."

"'That miserable creep who can't dial a phone?'" Sheila quoted, going to the cupboard for a glass of her own.

"That would be the one," Sam said, ducking her head.

"So, what are you doing out here anyway? From the noise you two were making I thought you'd changed your mind about researching space stuff and decided to do your thesis on the mating practices of rabbits."

Sam felt her face burn. "Mink, actually. The man has teeth." They both laughed again before Sam hushed her. "If he hears us, he's going to get paranoid!"

"Any reason he _*should*_ be paranoid?" Sheila asked, downing half a glass of water.

Sam gave a wistful sigh. "Absolutely, none!"

"Girl, you're positively glowing! I'm so jealous!"

"Yeah, well, you were 'shining' pretty good yourself last week when Darnel what's-his-name brought you home!"

"Mmmm. He is something, isn't he? Well, I better take advantage of the 'intermission' so I can get _*some*_ sleep tonight," Sheila teased. "See you later. Or then again, maybe not!"

Sam slapped Sheila's arm as she passed her by. Trouble was, she probably hadn't been exaggerating! Returning to her bedroom, Sam was surprised to see Jonas propped up against the head board.

"I thought you were asleep," she whispered.

"I was until you two started cackling out there," he smiled.

"I don't 'cackle.'"

"Could have fooled me! What was so funny, anyway?" Jonas asked, sliding down into the bed once more as Sam joined him.

"Oh, nothing," she yawned, settling on his chest "We were just discussing the differences between small furred rodents and weasels."

The weekend had gone by all too quick, and Sam was waiting with Jonas at the airport to catch the last flight of the day. She was leaning against him, relishing the feel of his arm slung around her shoulders.

"I wish you didn't have to go," she sighed.

"I wish I didn't have to either," he said, drawing his arm tighter. "As soon as my training's over, I'm going to put in for a transfer. You know if you said something to your dad. . . ."

Sam sat up, staring angrily at him. "I can't believe you said that! You know how I feel about asking my father for special favors!"

"Sam, it was just a suggestion!" he cried. "I'm going to do this on my own, I just thought you could 'nudge' him in the right direction if the subject came up."

"Actually, it might be better if I didn't try to help you."

"Why do you say that?"

Sam didn't know how to respond. How did she tell him her father would have a coronary if he knew she was seeing him? "You're not exactly his favorite person," she said, looking up at him hesitantly.

"Oh." Jonas looked away fiddling with the zipper on his jacket.

Sam placed her hand on his cheek, turning his head to face her again. "I think it's more that Dad still has this dream I'm going to get together with Philip." She could see he wasn't buying her attempt at reassuring him.

"Looks like the flight's on time," he said, swiftly changing the subject. "Too bad, I would have liked a little more time with you," he smiled.

"Me too."

"Uh, look, Sam. We should probably say good-bye here. It might be easier for both of us."

She nodded mutely, wrapping her arms around his neck giving him a quick kiss. She started to pull back when he held on, kissing her more soundly. "Why do you think I wanted to say good-bye here," he grinned. "The other we could have done with an audience. I'll call you when I can, okay? Don't go freaking out if you don't hear from me!"

"I promise," Sam said, clenching her fists to keep from throwing herself into his arms once more.

Jonas touched her on the nose. "Be good."

Sam felt her eyes filling with moisture. If he didn't go soon, she wasn't going to let him! He turned to leave, not looking back, which she realized was for the best. Moving to the windows, she stood at the glass long after his plane was airborne, waiting for her legs to carry her home.

~December, 1991~

The months seemed to slip by as Sam devoted her time and energy to research and writing her paper. She loved the work she did at NORAD, but it seemed as if there was something missing. Something bigger or more important she should be working on. She didn't have a clue what it was, only a sense that she was on the verge of something big.

Perhaps it was merely her impending graduation. She'd finally finished her thesis and would be receiving her degree at mid-term commencement. Her father would be there, and hopefully Mark, but she didn't hold out much hope for him. Of course the one person she really wanted to be there wouldn't be. Jonas was on a secret mission and she had no idea where he was or when he'd return.

Sam tried not to worry about him, but it was nearly impossible when he was constantly in her thoughts. They'd managed to meet a couple of times in the past months, but it wasn't nearly enough. Every time Jonas left, Sam felt a bit of herself leaving with him. She didn't know when it happened, but somewhere along the line, she'd fallen completely in love with Jonas Hansen.

The only trouble was, her father. She still hadn't mentioned Jonas to him, mostly because the timing wasn't right during a short phone call. Hopefully this weekend she'd find the strength to tell him. In a way, she was almost thankful Jonas wouldn't be able to attend her graduation. It might be better if she told her father when he wasn't around.

Jacob wanted to have a party for Sam, but she insisted it just be family and friends at a small gathering. So small, in fact, Sam decided to have the get together at the house she shared with Sheila. Even though their quarters were 'economic,' as Sheila put it, there was enough room for the few friends Sam had.

Jacob had arrived a day early to spend some time with Sam before her commencement, and she had a whole speech planned out on how she was going to tell him about Jonas. However, her father seemed to have other plans, talking up her accomplishments at NORAD, questioning her about future plans. Actually, that topic should have been the perfect opening, but they'd been interrupted by an old acquaintance of her father as they toured the base.

Opportunities didn't seem to present themselves the morning of her graduation, either, making her feel as if she was purposely hiding something from her father.

Sam was sitting on her sofa, still high from the thrill of now being "Dr. Carter." Her father was in the kitchen talking to Sheila's boyfriend Darnel, when her room mate joined her on the couch.

"It was a nice ceremony, Sam," she said, handing her friend a glass of punch.

"Yeah, it was, but it was pretty much a blur," Sam admitted. "I can't believe how nervous I was!"

"Well, you sure didn't look it. Man, you should have seen the look on your dad's face! I think he was just about ready to burst!"

Sam smiled. "I'm just glad he could come."

"You haven't told him about Jonas yet, have you?"

Sam looked up at her. "How did you know?"

"It's obvious something's wrong. You should be a little more excited about this whole thing."

"I'm just missing Jonas," she said, which was true, but it wasn't the only thing weighing on her mind.

"You should talk to him," Sheila insisted.

"What, now? This is supposed to be a party!"

"Then act like it," Sheila said, standing. "I better go save Darnel from your old man."

Sam leaned back against the sofa. Sheila was right, of course. And maybe it _*would*_ be better to tell him here. He might not let his temper get the better of him with an audience.

Getting to her feet, Sam walked into the kitchen. "Dad, can I talk to you for a minute?"

"Sure, Kiddo. Nice to meet you Darnel."

"You too, Sir."

Pulling Jacob over to the sofa, Sam took a seat motioning him to do the same.

"Sam? Is something wrong?"

"Dad, I know this really isn't the time or the place, but there's something I've been trying to tell you since you got here." Sam took a deep breath, hoping it would give her the courage to go on.

"You're not sick or something? One of those diseases they're linking to the Gulf war?" he asked, clearly worried.

"No, nothing like that." Looking up into his concerned eyes, she blurted, "I've been seeing someone."

"Sammie, that's great! Why the big mystery? I probably don't know the guy anyway!"

Sam swallowed then said, "Yeah, you do, Dad. It's Jonas."

"Jonas? Jonas who?"

"Jonas Hansen."

Jacob's face was blank for a moment, then the name registered with him. "How? I mean he's stationed in Florida!"

"That's where I started seeing him. When I was visiting you after I first came back from Desert Storm."

Sam watched her father's face become livid as the information sank in. His jaw was clenching in the same way it did when he spoke of Mark.

"Didn't I tell you to stay away from him?"

"Dad, I'm not a kid you can ground when you don't approve of my boyfriends."

"Apparently I should have! Jesus, Sam! Jonas Hansen? Could you have made a worse choice?"

"You don't know him!" she cried. "You have no idea what he's like! All you've heard are rumors and read impersonal reports! He's not the trouble you think he is! He's sweet, and kind, and generous, and he loves me!"

"Oh, please! I've seen his kind before! I'm sure he's been very charming, swept you right off your feet, hasn't he? And such a gaping wounded heart for you to heal!"

"That's not fair. The fact Jonas has had a rough time is beside the point," she said, looking around the room instead of at him. Sam lowered her voice when she noticed the few people who'd been in the living room had migrated to the relative safety of the kitchen. "He's said being with me has helped."

Jacob let out a sigh, rubbing his hand over his face. "It's like a narcotic with you, Sam! If you're concentrating on someone else's pain, there's no time for your own."

Sam's back stiffened and she looked away. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"You think I didn't see how your mother's death affected you? How it's still affecting you?"

Sam was still turned away from Jacob. "Dad, it's been over ten years since Mom died. I think I'm over it."

"Are you? This emotional insecurity you've got going? You know why Jonas is so attractive to you? Because he's hurting worse than you. That he's got more baggage than you, and if you can 'save' him there might be some hope for you."

Getting off the couch, Sam moved away from her father, unconsciously wrapping her arms around herself. "I didn't know you had time to take a course on pop psychology, Dad."

"It doesn't take a genius to see what's in front of me." Jacob rose and turned his daughter to face him. "If it wasn't Jonas, Sam, it would be some other guy who's got problems."

"So you're saying any emotional cripple could step into Jonas' shoes and I wouldn't even miss a beat?"

Jacob looked at his feet, but didn't answer.

"You're wrong, Dad. I love Jonas." Pulling away from his hands she added, "he's asked me to marry him."

Jacob's head shot up. "Sam! No! You can't possibly be thinking of marrying him!"

"I am, Dad."

"Have you given him an answer?"

This time it was Sam who looked down. "I haven't decided."

"Then it's not too late. At least you're showing _*some*_ sense!"

"I haven't decided because I don't know if I can handle him being gone all the time on such dangerous missions. That's the only thing holding me back!"

Jacob reached out and took her by the upper arms. "Sam, please. Don't do this! For Christ's sake, you just got a degree proclaiming how smart you are! Use some of those brains!"

Sam couldn't help equating her father's obstinate behavior with the way he treated Mark. Mark hadn't lived up to her father's expectations, and now neither was she. Maybe her brother hadn't been wrong about their father's attitude. He'd tried to warn her. Tell her how Jacob would 'abandon' her as well when she didn't fall into the nice, neat category their father wanted her in. She didn't believe Mark, thinking it was only bitterness causing him to talk badly of their father. Now it was looking like Mark's words contained more fact than she was willing to admit. Perhaps she had blinders on when it came to Jonas, but then she had them for her father as well.

The trouble was, there was a grain of truth to his statements. Part of Jonas' attraction _*was*_ his need for her, but was that such a bad thing? Marriages had been built on far worse. And she _*did*_ love him. Maybe they wouldn't have the ideal family life, but did she even know what that was?

"Dad," she said at length, "I'm not one of your men. You can't order me not marry Jonas."

Jacob let go of her arms, straightening to a stiff, military posture. "Then I guess we have nothing more to say." Retrieving his hat and coat, he headed for the door.

Sam rushed over to the door, trying to block his exit. "Please, Dad, don't go like this! Take some time, try to get to know him! I promise I won't do anything until you've had the chance to get better acquainted with him!"

Jamming his hat on his head, he gently pushed her aside. "I know all I need to know. Good-bye, Sammie. Congratulations." With that, Jacob Carter left her house without a backward glance.

The next few months were the most miserable Sam could ever remember. She'd tried to call her father, but he was continually "unavailable." Even calling at home had produced no results. Jonas still hadn't returned from his latest mission, and she was starting to worry. This was the longest she'd gone without some word of him.

She'd thought about her father's words, and the more she dwelled on them, the angrier she became. She was an adult, capable of making her own decisions, and if her father wanted to sit in Florida and pout over her choice, that was his business. The minute she saw Jonas she was going to accept his proposal.

Sam sat picking at her dinner, not really tasting anything she'd eaten lately.

"Sam, come on," Sheila prodded. "You have to eat something! You're wasting away to nothing!"

"I'm sorry, Sheila, it really is delicious, I'm just not very hungry," she said, taking a bite for her friend's benefit.

"You don't have to lie, I know I can't cook, but it's better than a MRE, isn't it?"

Sam managed a small smile. How long had it been since she'd eaten rations? Jonas was now. If he was lucky, she thought. "It's hard not to worry," she confessed.

Sheila reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. "He's going to be all right. He's too stubborn to die."

Sam nodded, laying down her fork. She wasn't up to pushing her food around the plate any more. "I just wish things with my Dad. . . ."

"I know. If it's any consolation, I think he's being a jerk."

"Yeah. What is it about parents that they think they always know what's best for you? I mean I can see it when you're young, they probably have more insight, but I'm old enough to be having my own children! If Jonas makes me happy, why can't he accept that and just be glad because _*I'm*_ happy?"

"Yeah, you're bubbling with joy," Sheila said, taking a mouthful of casserole.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Only that you _*talk*_ about how you don't care what your father thinks, but it's obvious you do. I'm not saying he's right, but until you can 'agree to disagree' you're not going to be happy. If your dad's opinion truly means nothing to you, prove it. Get over this and do what you think is best. Prove him wrong. Show him you and Jonas can have a future together."

Sam sighed, standing to take her plate to the sink. For a moment the only sound was the grating of her fork on the dish as she scraped the remains of her dinner into the garbage. "I know you're right, Sheila. It's just all my life I've felt I never quite measured up, and to have it thrown in my face that I don't, well, it's a little hard to deal with."

"Sam, your father loves you, otherwise he wouldn't be acting this way. If he didn't care he would have just shrugged his shoulders when you told him about Jonas. You had to know this was how he was going to react, otherwise you wouldn't have put off telling him."

"It's pretty much what I expected," Sam said, leaning back on the counter.

"Is there any chance your dad's right?" Sheila hinted.

"You mean about Jonas?"

"Yeah. Don't get me wrong, from what I've seen he seems like a decent guy, but is it possible your dad knows something you don't?"

Sam blew out a breath. "Just his service record, I suppose, but of course not everything in there is going to paint him in glowing colors. Jonas _*did*_ lose all of his men in a raid, regardless of why, I'm sure there are people who hold him accountable. Maybe my dad's one of them," she shrugged.

"I think if it was something like that, he would have just told you, don't you think?"

"He came pretty close to telling me Jonas is unstable! He keeps using this 'stray dog' analogy on me. Sometimes strays _*can*_ be reformed. I think Jonas is on the way."

Sheila stood, clearing off her own plate. "If it helps, I believe Jonas loves you, Sam. I'm not saying he's 'Mr. Perfect' and he's not going to hurt you, but I don't think he'd intentionally cause you grief."

Sam gave her a quick hug. "Thanks, Sheila. I think that's what I needed to hear."

It had been five months since Sam's "fall from grace" with her father, but at least today it wasn't upper most in her mind. Jonas had called her at 0300 to let her know he would be arriving in Colorado Springs later that day.

Looking back as she waited in the terminal, Sam wondered how she'd made it through work that day. Fortunately, there hadn't been anything pressing, for her entire shift was a blur except for her thoughts of Jonas' return. Sam paced as she waited for passengers to disembark through the flexible tunnel connecting the aircraft with the terminal.

At last she saw him. He looked thinner, more haggard than the last time she'd seen him, but it really wasn't a surprise. God only knew where he'd been, and sleep and food probably hadn't been top priorities. Seeing her at the end of the ramp, Jonas picked up his pace, dropping his carry-on bag to sweep her into his arms.

"God, I missed you!" He mumbled against her lips as he bent to kiss her.

Sam didn't waste any time in returning his kiss, hugging him so tight she though for sure she'd cracked his ribs. "I missed you, too. I hope all your missions aren't going to be this long," she said, capturing his mouth once more.

Realizing they were blocking pedestrian traffic, Sam dragged him out of the way, to sit on one of the now vacant chairs.

"Don't you want to go?" Jonas questioned.

"In a minute. Before we go any further, I have to tell you something."

A look of worry crossed Jonas' face. "Sam?"

"It's good," she said, suddenly feeling unsure. "At least I hope it's good."

"What?"

"The answer is 'yes.'"

"The answer to what?" he asked, looking confused.

"Your proposal. I'm saying yes."

Jonas simply stared at her, making Sam suddenly wonder if there was any way she could have misinterpreted his asking her to marry him.

"That is if the offer is still open," she said, looking at him hesitantly.

Jonas shook his head slightly. "If the off. . .Of course I still want to marry you!" he cried, pulling her into a crushing hug. "I thought you were going to tell me you were pregnant or something!"

Sam pulled back. "Would that be so terrible?"

"Well, no, yeah, kind of, I don't know!" he said, running a hand through his hair. "I mean it wouldn't be terrible, but it's not what either one of us need right now. You've got your career just starting and mine. . .well it wouldn't be the best time, would it?"

"No, you're right, this wouldn't be the right time. But you want kids someday, right?" She couldn't believe she'd accepted his marriage proposal without knowing such a crucial piece of information.

"Of course I do!" he said, slinging his arm over her shoulders, hugging her once more. "It's be great having a little Sam running around the house quoting scientific formulas!"

"I don't do that," she said, gently slapping his chest.

"No, but you do math in your sleep."

"You're kidding, right?"

"I wish I was! Half the time I'm in bed with you I feel like I'm in some kind of advanced algebra class."

"And the other half?" she asked, lowering her voice, kissing his ear.

"That's the part I like best," he grinned. Pulling away from her, Jonas began to dig in his pack. "I know this isn't exactly how either of us pictured this, but I can't wait, Sam." When Jonas' hand came out of his bag, he held a small velour covered box. "You have no idea how long I've been carrying this around, hoping you'd say the magic word."

Opening the box, he presented her with the ring. It wasn't fancy, nor set with an excessively large diamond, but still, larger than she figured he could afford. Taking the gold circle from the box's satin lining, Jonas slid it on her left hand.

"Thank you, Sam," he breathed. "I love you."

"I love you too," she said, her throat was so constricted, she barely managed to get the words out. "Let's get out of here."

Jonas was catching up on some much needed sleep as Sam sat curled up on the sofa. Sheila was coming in from yet another date with Darnel.

"Geeze, you two, get a room!" Sam said, alerting the couple they had an audience.

"Sam! I thought you'd be asleep, or at least in bed," Sheila grinned suggestively.

"No, I couldn't sleep, but if you guys. . . "

"Don't get up," Darnel said, holding out his hand. "I have to go anyway." He gave Sheila another embarrassingly long kiss before she closed the door on him.

Leaning against the door, Sheila sighed. "Man, that boy sure knows how to kiss."

Sam looked down at her lap where her right hand automatically played with the band on her left finger.

"Oooo, girl! You told him yes?"

"Yeah," Sam smiled, wondering why she should feel shy about admitting it to her friend. It's not like Sheila didn't know she was going to accept.

"Let me see! Let me see!" she cried, turning up the lights to get a better look. "Well, you won't be out-shining any General's wives with that one," she said.

"Sheila!"

"I'm kidding, Sam! It's really. . .nice."

"Nice? Sheila, what's wrong?"

"Oh, nothing that a similar band on my hand wouldn't cure," she sighed. "I'm just so damned jealous of what you and Jonas have," she said, slumping down onto the sofa next to Sam.

"Come on, it's not like you and Darnel. . . ."

"He's not looking for anything long term, and I know it. I knew it when I started seeing him. Still, it's hard not to ponder the 'what ifs.'"

"Yeah," Sam sighed, remembering her own "premature" thoughts about getting together with Jonas. "Who knows, you'll probably marry Darnel and you'll be together longer than Jonas and me."

"Hey! What kind of a curse on your relationship is that? You two really are going to be connected till 'death do you part.' Just remember that." Sheila tried to stifle a yawn. "I gotta hit the hay, or I'm going to be worth shit at work tomorrow. Don't stay up too late!" she admonished. "You want the light on?"

"No, I like the dark."

"Okay. 'Night Sam."

"'Night, Sheila."

Sam lay her head back against the edge of the couch, still absentmindedly twirling the ring on her finger. Had she made the right choice? It wasn't like they were getting married tomorrow; she'd have time to adjust to the idea before she became Samantha Carter-Hansen. Actually, she liked how that sounded. She tried to imagine what it would be like married to him, but all that came to mind was the waiting. The same waiting she endured now as he was sent to God knew where to execute some insanely risky mission. Maybe when they got married he'd think of doing something a little more "conventional." If only he could fly again. . . .

The next morning Sam was picking up Jonas' clothes, checking pockets as she prepared to wash his civilian clothes along with his BDUs. Looking over at him, Sam made sure he was still sleeping. It wasn't like she was digging for evidence of other women, or some clue to his latest mission. She just wanted to make sure nothing valuable ended up in the washer.

There was something in the back pocket of his fatigue pants. It was squareish, slightly flexible, and wedged into the pocket. When she'd finally worked it free, she discovered a small Christian Bible. Raising her eyebrows at her discovery, Sam flipped through the book, almost as if she didn't believe the outer cover matched the contents.

Taking a seat on the bed, she continued to peruse the volume, occasionally recognizing a passage or two. Just then she felt an arm slide around her waist, causing her to jump.

"You're awake," she said, quickly closing the book as if she'd been caught doing something elicit.

"I have been. You looking for something?" His voice wasn't exactly accusing, but it was obvious he wanted an explanation as to why she was going through his personal belongings.

"I was going to do some laundry. I thought maybe you'd like me to do some of yours as long as I was at it."

Jonas pulled Sam backward until her head rested on his stomach. Brushing the hair out of her face he leaned over and gave her a quick kiss. "I didn't realize you had this domestic streak in you!"

Sam kissed him back, then sat up. "I don't usually. I guess getting engaged has that effect on me! Besides, it seems silly to make you do your own when I have a load to do."

"I think I'm going to like being married to you," Jonas growled, burying his face between her neck and her shoulder, giving her a slight bite. As distracting as he was, Sam had questions about the book she found. Sitting up straighter, she held the leather-bound volume just over her shoulder.

"A Bible? Since when are you so religious?" she asked, turning to look at him.

Jonas shrugged his shoulders, then lay back, placing his hands behind his head. "I'm not. It's more of a 'good-luck' charm." At Sam's quizzical glance he continued. "Tony Schlachner was the last man of my unit to die. Remember the night we met? That was Tony. Anyway, after the funeral, his wife sent me this, saying he wanted me to have it. That it had saved his ass, if it hadn't saved his soul."

Sam looked down at the cover of the book and noticed a graze mark, almost like a burn across the leather. She fingered it, then gazed at Jonas once more as he continued.

"He used to carry it in his breast pocket. That mark is from a bullet. If he didn't always haul it with him everywhere he went, he would have died that day. To bad he couldn't have padded himself from head to toe with Bibles that last day . . . .

Sam took his hand, squeezing his fingers tight. "It's not your fault."

Jonas sighed. "Yeah, I know, or so the shrinks keep tell me. So, any way, that's why I carry it. Kind of as a way to remember a good friend. Plus it's got some surprisingly current applications. Test of a true classic, I guess."

Sam, looked down at the book again. She'd never been inspired to look deeper into any religion, but then so much of theology was based on blind faith, where her brain was geared more to facts and evidence. The two ideas seemed juxtaposed.

"I should have asked before I just started digging in your things," Sam apologized.

"That's okay. What do I have to hide? Especially from you?"

Smiling, Sam leaned over and gave him another quick kiss. "Nothing, I hope."

~November, 1992~

Jonas' was working on getting a transfer, but it was taking longer than either of them had expected. Sam worried it was her father holding things up, doing anything he could to keep them from being together. Maybe she was just being paranoid. Perhaps transfers were handled by someone under him, and the only thing Jacob would see of Jonas' request was his name on a sheet of paper placed before him for his signature. That would be for the best, she thought, as she still hadn't talked to him since her graduation. The more time that passed, the harder it seemed to be to come up with a reason to contact him.

Sam was in the commissary at NORAD, drinking her umpteenth cup of coffee when two technicians joined her.

"Hey, Carter," one man said, hefting an over-stuffed jelly donut to his mouth. "How's it going?" he asked, jelly oozing out the side of his mouth.

Sam tried not to grimace at the lack of manners the overweight man exhibited as he joined her. "Great, Ralph," she said, letting her gaze follow her coffee cup to the table so she didn't have to watch him finish off his breakfast.

"Yeah, come up with any new ways to revolutionize NORAD today?" A pencil-thin male asked, elbowing Ralph as he sat down across from her. As hard as she tried, Sam couldn't get the image of Laurel and Hardy out of her mind when ever she saw these two. It wasn't only their physical resemblance, it was their lame attempt at humor. If Ralph just had an undersized bowler hat. . . . But the worst part was Ralph's anorexic sidekick was named "Stan."

"Are you guys *still* on me about that computer program thing?"

"Still impressive after all these months, Sam," Stan said lifting the largest coffee mug she'd ever seen. It was probably only filled half-way, considering how shaky the man's hands were and there wasn't coffee all over the table.

"Well that's nothing," she said lowering her voice. "I finally found the black hole you guys _*swore_* was a figment of my imagination."

"Get out!" Ralph hissed.

"No way!" Stan remarked, mouth gaping.

Sam launched into how she'd found the elusive object, barely acknowledging a civilian woman taking a seat at table next to them. Pausing in her explanation, Sam noticed the woman was listening in on their conversation. Not that they were discussing anything of a secure nature, but still, she didn't recognize the woman. The last thing she needed was for some non-military scientist to come in and steal her work out from under her.

"Well, guys, it's been a pleasure, as always, but I have to get back to the lab."

"Are you always so by-the-book, Carter? Who'd know if you took an extra five?" Ralph asked.

"No, one, but that would be five minutes of research I would have missed out on," she smiled.

"You're hopeless, you know that?" Stan asked.

"So I've been told," Sam grinned as she picked up her coffee cup. "See you guys later."

Sam was about to exit the commissary when the woman rose to intercept her.

"Excuse me, Dr. Carter, isn't it?"

Sam was a bit taken aback that the woman would know her. "Um, yeah. And you are?"

"Dr. Catherine Langford," she said, offering her hand.

Sam looked at the woman's outstretched hand. It appeared to be on the frail side, but it was the only thing about the woman that didn't seem to exude vitality. Her gray hair was certainly at odds with the fire in her blue eyes. She spoke with a slight accent. German perhaps?

Realizing she was staring, Sam shook the woman's hand and decided the firm grip was anything but frail.

"Forgive me for being so bold," she said, "but is there somewhere private we could talk?"

Sam shifted her feet, crossing her arms. "Look, Dr. Langford, if this is about what you _*think*_ you heard in the commissary. . ."

"No, actually it is something quite different, I assure you. It won't take long. I have an appointment with General West in fifteen minutes. Please?"

Sighing, Sam nodded, indicating the woman should follow her. "There's a conference room just up ahead. We can use that."

Once the door was shut, Sam turned to Dr. Langford. "Now, what is this about? I have to get back to work."

Catherine gave her an enigmatic smile before she began. "I'm sorry if I was eavesdropping, but I was very impressed with your method and theories. You seem to have a rather unique approach to stellar phenomenon."

"Thank you," Sam said tersely. "If you're looking for a research partner, I'm really not interested."

"I am interested in your abilities, but not as a partner with myself, per se. I'm doctor of Archeology, specifically Egyptology."

Sam's eyes widened. "Forgive me, but I really don't see what my study of black holes has to do with ancient Egypt."

"Strange as it may seem, they are related in a way. I wish I could tell you more, but until I can get you the proper security clearance, I really can't elaborate."

"Until _*you*_ can get _*me*_ security clearance? Last time I checked, NORAD was a _*military*_ installation and it worked the other way around."

Catherine gave her another small smile. "Yes, well as I'm sure you're aware, not everything in the military is as it seems."

Sam couldn't argue with her there. Even within NORAD there seemed to be more hidden agendas than she thought possible. And it was but a small corner of the Air Force. Let alone the military.

"So what is it you're asking me?" Sam wondered.

"I'm asking if you'd like to work on a project bigger than anything you could ever have imagined."

"That's rather cryptic," Sam said. "How am I supposed to answer that when I have no idea what this project entails?"

"All I can tell you at this point is that it will challenge many facets of you interests and training. Hopefully, if all goes well with General West, I'll be able to tell you more. If not, well, then you can tell your friends about the crazy woman who talked nonsense to you for ten minutes."

Sam smiled at Catherine's self-description. What did she have to lose? At least it was break in her morning routine. "Fine. Talk to the General. If I'm still a candidate for your. . .whatever, come and see me in lab 18 on level six."

Catherine's smile grew broad as she held out her hand once more. "I promise you won't regret this."

Sam looked up at the knock on her door. She was surprised forty-five minutes had passed since she'd returned to her lab. If the mysterious Dr. Langford had been with General West all this time, it had to be a new record. He wasn't long on conversation. Decisions were made and implemented almost immediately.

"Come in!" she called, careful to switch off the monitor of the computer where she was doing her work. Catherine Langford claimed to be uninterested in her research, but it never hurt to be careful.

"Dr. Carter," Catherine smiled. This time the woman was practically beaming.

"Please, call me Sam," she said indicating a chair next to her own.

"I think I have what you will consider some very good news. After talking to General West, he as agreed to let me 'borrow' you for a time."

"Borrow me?"

"Officially, you'll still be attached to NORAD and Peterson, but unofficially, you will be joining my project. That is if you agree," she added hastily.

"I'm being given a choice in this?" Sam found it unusual her commanding officer didn't just order her to abandon her current work and help this woman if he felt it warranted her attention.

"This is still a civilian project, even if it's taking place within a military installation," Catherine stated with vehemence, as if she'd just had this conversation minutes ago. Sam's face must have shown her confusion as Catherine continued.

"If you'll hear me out, Sam, everything will be made clear." Catherine settled further into her seat, her eyes had a far away look as she began her story.

"To start at the beginning, I need to tell you a bit about my father, my upbringing. He was an archeologist, from Germany, who'd made a few minor discoveries, but nothing like Howard Carter's discovery of Tutanhkamen in '22. Although, he too had been working in Egypt at the time, it was Carter's discovery that introduced archeology and Egyptology to the world. After the unearthing of Tut's tomb, grants were easier to come by, and my father forged ahead with his work in earnest. Six years later, he made a discovery that rivaled Carter's. It should have, anyway." At this point Catherine stopped, looking away, obviously still bitter her father didn't receive the recognition he deserved.

"I was fortunate to have been with my father when the discovery was made," she said, with not a little pride. "Looking back now, if there hadn't been so much excitement about the object, I doubt I would have been witness to it. It was a good thing I was, for before any real tests could be done on the nature of the artifact, the American military stepped in and commandeered it."

Sam held up her hand, "Wait a second. Didn't you tell me your father's nationality was German? How did the American military end up with his artifact?"

"One of the grants my father had accepted had been underwritten by the U.S. army. It was in some _*very*_ small print on his contract. At any rate, my father had no idea who he was really working for until they came and not only took the artifact, but any evidence associated with it. Within a week, the entire area looked as barren as the day he began excavating. He was told never to mention his discovery or continue working anywhere near the site where the object was found."

"He was never compensated for all of his work?" Sam asked incredulously.

"Oh, he was offered a professorship, and the chance to _*work*_ on the artifact, but his research was secret. No one ever knew how brilliant he was or the fantastic discovery he'd made." Catherine looked down at her hands, fighting her emotions

"I'm sorry Dr. Langford, please continue."

"If we're to be on a first name basis, you'll have to return the favor," Catherine said.

Sam smiled. "Okay, Catherine, tell me more."

"We moved to the United States so my father could become a professor of archeology at Harvard. Even though he'd agreed to keep all knowledge of his work on the artifact secret, he'd often bring home files which I would peek into once he was asleep. Although I'd been a child when the object was unearthed, I'd never lost my wonder and curiosity about it. In a way, I think I was more obsessed with it than my father."

"You keep referring to it as 'the artifact,' or 'the object.' What is it we're talking about here?"

Catherine clasped her hands together. "Quite honestly, I still don't know and I've been studying it most of my life."

"Well, can you describe it? Give me some kind of clue what you're talking about?"

Another mysterious smile crept onto Catherine's face. "How about I show you?" Her eyes were sparkling with excitement, and Sam couldn't help but get caught up in her enthusiasm.

"Where is it?"

"Here," Catherine said.

"Here as in NORAD or here as in Colorado Springs?" Sam questioned.

"I mean here, as in beneath us."

Sam knew there were five more levels to NORAD beneath her lab, even if she'd never visited them. It certainly was possible some kind of research like this was going on below her. After all, how much space did they need for a few antiques?

"Well, since General West said I'm yours, I guess my schedule's free. Shall we go now?"

Catherine nodded. "I think you'll be most impressed."

Entering the elevators, Catherine pressed "11," the lowest level of the complex. Sam suspected her lab had to be at the very bottom since she'd never caught wind of the woman's project. They exited, then turned to the right, walking until the reached another set of elevators, stationed with an Airman and a sign-in sheet. After affixing their names, Sam and Catherine entered the car, and Sam was astonished to see her press a button for level 28.

"Twenty-eight?" she questioned? There's seventeen more levels _*under*_ NORAD? I've worked here for over a year and I've had no idea!"

"Good. That's what I like to hear. The only NORAD personnel who _*should*_ know of this sub-level facility are those authorized to work on level 11. And even they don't know what's beyond these elevator doors.

The car came to smooth halt, opening to a gray corridor whose walls and ceilings were lined with metal conduits, the floor painted with various colored stripes. There was a surprising amount of activity, which Catherine seemed to take in stride, so Sam assumed it was normal.

"This used to be a missile silo," Catherine informed her conversationally as they made their way through the subterranean labyrinth.

"I think I remember hearing something about that," Sam said. "But I thought that was just where NORAD was housed. Her eyes were still wide as Catherine guided her through the hallways.

NORAD was a high security area, but it didn't have the covert feel of this complex. Everything about the level they walked felt sterile, stripped to the bare bones, as if any attempt at "humanizing" it was a waste of time, money and energy. Not that she expected carpeted hallways or soft pastel painted walls. It was more that the utilitarian aspect of the facility added to the overall feeling of secrecy.

"Almost there," Catherine smiled. She seemed almost as excited as Sam. The older woman swiped a card with a magnetic stripe through a reader, causing a huge blast door to slide back on great hinges. Catherine indicated Sam should enter first.

Gazing around the room, Sam noticed several technicians in white lab coats almost before she realized there was a giant ring of some sort dominating the room. Taking a step back, Sam gasped, trying to get her mind to register what she was seeing. The ring stood almost to the ceiling, making it nearly two-stories tall, and was made of some type of dark stone that sparkled under the bright florescent lights. Seven triangular objects were spaced evenly around the rim, while an inner portion seemed to be covered with symbols of some kind. She was no student of Egyptology, but even she could see they weren't typical Egyptian hieroglyphs. Although, it was the first thing that came mind as she looked at the pictographs.

Finally finding her throat suddenly dry, Sam's voice almost failed her. "This is what your father found?"

"Yes," Catherine said, pride evident in her voice. "There were one or two more items of significance, but this is the most impressive of the lot."

"I'll say," Sam breathed, still awed by the sight before her. "What is it? What does it do? Or rather what _*did*_ it do? Has anything else like this ever been found?"

Catherine chuckled at Sam's questions. "We don't know what it is, or what it did. We have a few theories, but we were hoping perhaps you might provide the answer."

"Me?" Sam asked, turning to face Catherine. "I'm not an archeologist! I don't think I got past ancient cultures 101!"

"You're a doctor of theoretical astrophysics, with a degree in quantum mechanics, correct?"

Sam merely nodded.

"Then you're what we need," Catherine said, toying with a gold necklace.

"Are you telling me you think this thing came from _*space?*_"

"The material the object is made of is not found anywhere on Earth. I'll let you be the judge of where it came from."

Sam shook her head. "Well, the material may have come from space," she rationalized. "Maybe a fragment of a meteorite or something that the Egyptians fashioned into this. . .this ring. That doesn't mean it's from an extra-terrestrial culture."

"I didn't say that it was. Only that the material is unique."

"But you're leaning in that direction?" Sam asked.

"No theory is too far fetched at this point. We simply have no idea what it is," Catherine sighed, "and I've been working on this for thirteen years."

"Thirteen years? But you said your father discovered it in 1928, right? Are you telling me in all that time no one's managed to figure out what it was or it's origins?"

Catherine gave her an indulgent smile. "There is more to my story. There's a conference room half a level up. I'll tell you the rest there."

Sam followed Catherine out of the vast room, taking one last look at the object over her shoulder. She was still reeling from all she'd seen in the past half hour, and from the way it sounded, there was more to come.

Seated at a long table, Catherine offered Sam a cup of coffee before she launched into her explanation once more.

"In answer to your question, I believe a great deal of research has been done on the object. However, since it was the military conducting the experiments, that information is classified."

"But you're working with the military now. Surely any data they have could be turned over to you."

Catherine gave her an ironic grin as she seated herself next to Sam. "You would think so, but it seems the Army, or the Air Force for that matter can't run with out bureaucracy or red tape. The Air Force claims they never received the information from the Army, and the Army insists the Air Force lost it. You see where this is heading."

"So, essentially you've had to start from scratch," Sam said, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Yes. And I've been at this for longer than thirteen years, even though that's how long the project's been officially running." At Sam's questioning glance, Catherine elaborated.

"I know my father was still working on the object in the forties when there was some kind of accident, in which the Army told everyone involved the artifact had been destroyed. My father was no longer under a military contract and spent the rest of his years teaching, eventually dying in obscurity. Oh, there's a photo and a plaque on the wall in some dusty hall at Harvard, but that's all the mention my father ever received after all his hard work."

Catherine took a deep breath and began again. "Actually, I'd all but forgotten the object until I got wind that a large ring of some kind was in an armory in Washington D.C. I don't even remember how it came to my attention. After witnessing the trouble my father had gone through with it, I decided it was better off where it was. Gathering moth balls in some nameless warehouse."

Sam was intrigued with Catherine's tale and waited for her to continue.

"It was in, oh, 1969 I guess when I started questioning the nature of the ring again. I was paid a visit by two young people. A man who claimed to be the son of one of my father's associates, Heinrich Gruper, and a woman who worked with him. They asked me questions only my father would have had the answers to, and they got me thinking about the ring once more. The man kept asking me if I knew anything about a second device, one that controlled the ring. I had no idea it even _*was*_ a device, let alone that it had a control mechanism. After their visit I began asking questions, tried to get 'custody' of the ring, along with seeking permission for a second dig where my father found the artifact. Needless to say, my request for further excavations was denied, as was my bid for ownership of the ring. I lobbied countless politicians, addressed an unknown number of committees, then finally, in 1978, during the Carter administration, someone listened to me. It was a General Perkins in the Air Force who'd come across the ring while he was a major stationed at the base where the object was stored. He claimed to have seen it "activated" for mere seconds, and the image of what he'd seen had haunted him for nearly ten years."

"There seems to be a lot of Carters involved in your experience with the ring," Sam noted with a smile.

"I prefer to think of it as a good omen," Catherine agreed.

"So, to make this extremely long story shorter, with Perkins' help we managed to gain access to this facility, move the ring and begin researching once again."

"What happened to General Perkins?"

Catherine's gaze drifted to the table as she rubbed a scar in the wood. "He died of cancer two years ago. That's when General West took over."

There was a change in Catherine's voice. Obviously she and Perkins had worked well together. Sam got the impression it wasn't the same with West.

"I take it General West hasn't exactly been 'helpful' in regards to your research," Sam said.

"You could say that. Every requisition I pass through his office he fights me on. I know if this project didn't have presidential approval he would have ended it long ago. But it's been a long time with very few results. If we don't start making some progress soon, it won't matter whose ear I have in Washington."

"So why me, why now?" Sam asked.

"Actually, I've been trying to get you assigned to this project since I heard about what you did with the computers at NORAD."

Sam rolled her eyes and started to protest, but Catherine held up her hand.

"I know your area of expertise is deep space radar telemetry and black holes. However, I think some of your theories could be applied to my project as well. I've had some of the best computer minds in the country working on finding a way to make the ring glow as Perkins told me he'd seen it do. The inner track can be rotated, so I know the symbols have something to do with it's operation. I really could use your help with this Sam."

Sam thought about her options. She'd finally showed some progress in her own research, something that might "put her on the map," so to speak. Did she really want to give that up to work on some secret project she would never be recognized for? But what if they _*could*_ discover the ring's true purpose and it was something wonderful? Something that had such far-reaching implications they were inconceivable at the moment? Besides the challenge of discovering something that for all intents and purposes shouldn't even be on the planet. Was there really any choice?

"Catherine, I think you've just recruited yourself an astrophysicist."

Catherine's smile lit up the room as she stood to shake Sam's hand. "I don't think you'll regret this decision. Come. I'd like to introduce you to some of my staff."

A type of "command central" had been set up in a room overlooking the ring. With it's banks of monitors, it could have been any room in NORAD, except for the fact Sam immediately recognized the computers weren't tracking satellites. In fact, they didn't seem to be doing any type of tracking. Instead, they were running calculations that even she couldn't follow.

"Gary, Barbara, I'd like you to meet our newest addition," Catherine said, ushering Sam forward. "Dr. Samantha Carter, also a captain in the Air Force, this is Dr. Barbara Shore, our resident mathematician and Dr. Gary Meyers, our expert on linguistics and ancient writings."

Sam stepped forward, accepting the out-stretched hands. "Pleased to meet you both."

"And you," Barbara said enthusiastically. "Catherine's talked a lot about you."

"Oh? We just met today," Sam said, looking over at the older woman.

"But your reputation precedes you," Gary added.

Sam felt uneasy with the praise. "I hope I live up to the hype!"

Catherine placed her hand on Sam's shoulder. "You have nothing to worry about. Gary, Barbara? Care to tag along as I show Sam the rest?"

Barbara snubbed out her cigarette as Gary shrugged his shoulders. "Sure, why not."

The first room they entered was a type of lab, the "think tank," Barbara told Sam. "We often accomplish the most if we just sit around and brainstorm."

Looking around the room, it seemed like a typical lab to Sam. Computers; read-outs covering desk tops, spilling onto the floor; coffee cups and a coffee maker Sam noticed because of the acrid smell of burnt coffee permeating the air. Gary walked over to the pot switching it off.

"Sorry, guess I forgot to turn it off earlier," he said sheepishly.

"There's a desk back here you can use," Catherine pointed out. "Let me know if you have any special needs, and I'll see what I can do. As I said earlier, General West hasn't been exactly forthcoming with assistance."

"I'm sure this will be fine," Sam assured her. She got a quick look around the room before Catherine was moving her forward once more.

"The super computers that are running the calculations in the control room are housed in this area," Catherine pointed out.

"Three of them?" Sam asked, her jaw dropping. If indeed it was the government financing this venture, this project had a lot of money to throw around.

"Yes, and after thirteen years, we've still had no conclusive results. Perhaps you'll have better luck?" Catherine suggested.

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "I can give it a try, but Catherine, you know it's not really my area."

"Samantha, from what I've read in your file, I think anything you try is your area."

Sam felt her face growing warm. It was bad enough Catherine kept heralding her arrival like she was Joan of Arc. Did she have to do it in front of her current staff?

Catherine opened double doors into another two-story room, this one dominated by a circular "tablet" made of sections of stone. Some of the pieces had cracked or broken, but were held in place with metal rods, much like dinosaur skeletons she'd seen in museums.

"I suppose I'm starting my tour a little backward," Catherine smiled. "These stones were the first thing my father and his team discovered in Giza. The ring was found underneath."

Sam walked forward with her hand outstretched. At the last minute, she pulled back. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, "may I touch it?" All three scientists smiled as Catherine gave her assent. The stone was rough, something like sandstone, only harder. Most of the glyphs looked like standard Egyptian, but there was a cartouche in the center that had symbols she'd never seen before. There was an ring of pictographs on the outer edge of the cover stones that were unusual as well.

"I've never seen writing like this," Sam said, running her fingers over the central cartouche.

The three exchanged knowing glances again. "No one has," Barbara said with a slightly smug smile.

"These symbols," Sam said, running her hand along the outside rim, "they're the same ones on the ring in the other room, right?"

Gary looked from Catherine to Sam. "I thought you said you just showed her the ring a little while ago? I didn't realize you'd had a chance to study it."

"I didn't," Sam said. "I just thought these pictographs looked like a similar style to those on the ring."

A huge smile broke out over Gary's face. "Well, you're absolutely correct, Dr. Carter!" Looking back over at Catherine, he gave his blessing. "You're right. I'm impressed."

Looking back up at the stones, Sam asked, "How old is this?"

"That's the really interesting part," Barbara said. "It's been carbon dated, so there can be no mistake." She paused for a moment, quickly glancing at Catherine. "According to the tests, it's ten thousand years old."

Sam felt like she'd absorbed more incredible facts in the past hour than she had in an entire year. "Ten _*thousand*_ years? But how is that possible? I mean, I thought Egyptian culture wasn't nearly that old! And certainly not at the level of sophistication necessary to carve these stones, much less make that ring!"

"You see our dilemma," Catherine said.

"There's no mistake on the date," Barbara said. "I don't know how many times we've run the tests, and we get the same result."

"Are you suggesting alien intervention, like some have theorized?" Sam asked, looking from one to the other. "You really think the object has something to do with beings from space? From another world?"

Catherine exchanged a slightly embarrassed look with her colleagues who were also looking decidedly uncomfortable. "Let's just say we haven't ruled out the possibility."

"Wow," Sam said, eyes wide. Before she could comment further, Gary jumped in with an explanation.

"I've translated a good portion of the hieroglyphs from the cover stones, and there is evidence to suggest this ring was some kind of 'doorway.' How, exactly, is what we've been trying to figure out all these years."

"That's pretty amazing," Sam said. It was a bit of a leap of faith to take these people at their word, but isn't that what she loved about science? Taking an idea, something no one thought was conceivable and proving it was possible? The others looked at her expectantly, as a smile broke out over Sam's features. "So, when do I start?

Sheila was just sitting down to dinner when Sam breezed in the door.

"Hey, I didn't expect you so early! Half the time they can't pry you out of that lab! You want some supper?"

"No thanks, I'll grab something later," she said, taking a bottle of juice from the refrigerator, joining Sheila at the table.

"What?" Her room mate asked. "You look like you're about to burst."

"I got a new job today!"

"But I thought you liked what you were doing."

"I do," Sam said, jumping up to pace, too excited to sit still. "It's fascinating, but this could be even better."

"What about NASA? It thought what you were doing now was going to get you there in a year or two."

"It still might," she said, taking a swig of her juice.

"So what is it?" Sheila pressed.

"I can't tell you, it's classified."

"Are you still at NORAD?"

Sam thought about her response just long enough to sound unsure. "Yes."

"Well come on, Sam, either you're still at NORAD or you aren't, which is it?"

"Yes, I'm still there, just in a different area. Oh, and if you need to get a hold of me for any reason, I'll have to be paged. Here's the new number." She scribbled the digits onto the dry erase memo board they had near the phone.

Sheila sat back in her chair, her meal forgotten. "This sounds awful 'cloak and dagger,'" she commented.

"It's not. Not really, just a highly sensitive project."

"Can you tell me _*anything*_ about it?"

Sam thought for a moment. "I think I'm going to be doing a lot of computer work."

Sheila shook her head in exasperation. "Well, I'd say that was a given. Okay. I guess there's nothing you can really tell me. How'd you get picked for this?"

Sam tried sitting down once more. "The woman who's heading the project approached me. I was sitting with 'Laurel and Hardy' in the commissary and she overheard me talking about black holes. Next thing I know, she's asking me if I want to join her project, and I've got General West's okay."

"Wow, that was fast. I didn't think the Air Force ever moved that quick."

"If it's something they want, it's amazing how fast they get their shit together."

"So, you really can't tell me any more, huh?"

Sam shook her head. "I'm sorry. I guess I shouldn't have even brought it up when I can't talk about it."

"No, it's all right. It's just that nothing exciting like this ever happens in meteorology," she sighed. "Oh, sure, it's big news when there's a natural disaster going on some where, but we never get to do any of the really fun secret stuff like you guys at NORAD get to."

Sam smiled at her. "It's kind the nature of your science *not* to be secretive. You're in the business of make _*sure*_ everyone knows what you've found. Personally, I'd find that refreshing."

Sheila picked up a carrot stick and started munching on it. "Grass is always greener, I suppose," she said. "Hey, what do you think Jonas is going to think of all this? I mean with him in Special Ops and you doing. . .whatever you'll be a two-secret household! I can just hear your dinner conversation:

"How was your day, Dear?"

"That's classified. What about you? Find any little green men?"

"That's classified. So, what country are you going to next?"

"That's classified."

Sam picked another carrot off Sheila's plate, tossing it at her. "That's not funny!" she said, trying not to laugh.

"Yeah, but am I right?"

"No! Jonas and I have other things to talk about besides the Air Force."

"But think about it. When it's *so* much a part of your lives, you sure it won't be a problem?"

Sam sighed. "I don't know. I don't think it'll be a problem, but how do I know? It _*shouldn't*_ be, but I really don't know. I suppose I'll have to see."

Sheila continued to press her. "What if he tells you he doesn't want you to work on something like this? Would you quit?"

"What, the Air Force or the project?"

"I mean the project," Sheila sighed.

Sam leaned back in her chair, staring off into space. "I guess I never really thought about it. I don't know why he _*would*_ ask me to quit."

"Maybe because he doesn't want you in a more important position than him?"

"Sheila, he's not like that! He knows he's got an important job. What I do doesn't matter to him."

"Are you sure? I mean, yeah, he's in Special Ops and all, but basically he's just a grunt like the rest of them. But here you are, one shining achievement after another. You don't think he's going to start getting resentful of that after a while?"

Sam looked at the ceiling, as if the answer was there. She hadn't really thought about it before, but would Jonas be jealous of her accomplishments? Especially considering his one true passion had been flying and it had been taken from him? He'd had to "make do" with Special Ops, when everything she'd tried for seemingly fell into her lap. She always assumed he was okay with her occupation, but what if he was trying to _*convince*_ himself he was okay with it?

Looking back at her friend, Sam asked, "has he said something to you?"

"Me? No, but even though I see how crazy he is about you, I still sense a bit of . . .resentment? Maybe?"

Sam shrugged, getting up. "Well, I don't see it, but I'll try to not to make too big a deal out of this. Oh, and in answer to your original question, would I quit? No, I don't think I would. I just hope I don't have to find out for real what I'd do."

Sam was bent over reports, trying to make sense of the conflicting views Catherine had of the ring and those observed by General Perkins. There was something missing; a piece of the puzzle they hadn't been able to find. And Catherine's staff and computers had been at it for thirteen years. Did she really expect to find it in a day?

She'd hoped just her new perspective would discover something, but her head hurt so much, the answer could have been printed out in letters six inches high and she wouldn't have seen it. Sam couldn't blame the headache on the stacks of folders lining her desk. No, the pain in her head and her heart had started the night before when she'd called Jonas to tell him of her new assignment. Sam was seriously beginning to think Sheila was psychic, for she'd nailed his attitude right on the head.

The first thing he did was ask if her new job was dangerous. However, after that, things escalated into an argument. Looking back, Sam wasn't sure how it started, or what they were even fighting about when she never really discussed what she was doing at NORAD before. Why should this make any difference? He tried to smooth things over by the end of the conversation, but she was too angry at his irrational behavior. Did she get upset with him when his job sent him into deadly situations on a regular basis? No, she trusted him and that was all that mattered. Sam was just upset he couldn't extend her the same trust. Especially when she wasn't doing anything dangerous. She should have just told him her phone number had changed and left it at that.

Rubbing her temples, Sam leaned back in her chair as Barbara entered the lab. "Not such a great first day?" She asked, withdrawing a cigarette from a nearly empty pack, lighting it.

"It's going okay. I just have a headache, that's all."

Barbara walked to a cupboard near the coffee pot and took a huge, white, plastic bottle from inside. Placing it before Sam, she grinned. "We eat them like candy around here."

Sam managed a smile as she noticed the "Tylenol" label. "Thanks," she said, helping herself to two tablets. "Ugh. I don't know what's worse, the headache or trying to swallow these damn pills."

Barbara exhaled her smoke away from Sam as she took a seat in her chair, swiveling it to face the woman next to her. "So, you find anything?" she asked, nodding toward the reports on Sam's desk.

"I don't know. Every time I think I find something, someone else has had a different observation. They can't all be right."

"Yeah, that's been the trouble all along," Barbara said, flicking ashes into an overflowing ashtray. "Still, the thing we agree on the most is it's a device of some kind, not just symbolic. I doubt the inner track would move if it was just a decoration."

"The inner track moves?" Sam questioned, looking back down at the reports in front of her. She couldn't remember reading that.

"It's probably in there somewhere," Barbara said, waving a hand at the pile of papers on Sam's desk. "You probably just haven't gotten to it yet."

"I'd really like a closer look at the ring, but Catherine suggested I start with the reports to get me 'up to speed' on what it is. Personally, I think I'd have a better shot if I had some hands-on experience."

"Catherine's in some meeting in Washington today, but I don't think she'd mind if you had a closer look. After all, you've got the required clearances. Let's go take a gander." Barbara snuffed out her cigarette and led Sam back through the hallways to the room the ring was in.

"The blue line is the one you want to follow," Barbara pointed out. "Why don't you try your access card, we'll make sure it works."

Sam ran her card through the reader and the door slid back with a slow, mechanical whir.

"Would you look at that," Barbara smiled. "Something military issue worked right the first time." As if she suddenly realized Sam was standing before her in her uniform, Barbara became a bit flustered. "I mean, you know the reputation, and all. . . ."

Sam gave her a reassuring smile. "I'll be the first to admit the Air Force could use a little help when it comes to getting things to work. Everything comes neatly wrapped in tons of red tape."

"That's why Catherine's in Washington. Some snafu with the funding again. I swear, she spends more time on a plane or in D.C. than she does here. We could really use a liaison there." Turning to the command center, Barbara called out, "could we have some light on the object, please?" It took a moment, then row by row, the lights came on.

"Thanks!" Sam called to the dark glass. It was a little unnerving not being able to see people inside the control room. Walking up the ramp to the ring, Sam noticed there were more of the triangular shaped sections below the metal grating, making it nine "objects" total evenly spaced around the rim of the ring. Tentatively, Sam reached out a hand, touching the outer surface of the ring. It was cool to the touch and felt almost like glass, but appeared to be stone or metal.

"Any idea what function these serve?" Sam asked, touching a triangular area.

"None whatsoever. They're evenly spaced, so we figure there's some significance in that."

Sam sighed and stepped back a little, tilting her head to look to the apex of the ring. "Reminds me of that scene from '2001: A Space Odyssey' when the primitives were throwing bones at the monolith. For all our technology, we don't have any more of a clue than they did."

"Maybe we should try tossing some bones at it," Barbara chuckled.

"I just wish someone would throw *me* a bone. Some place to start looking." Sam stepped closer again, and tried moving the inner track. Digging her fingers into one of the symbols carved on the ring, she was surprised at how easily it moved. Well, it wasn't like spinning a wheel on a game show, she thought, but the fact she could move it by hand suggested it was supposed to move freely.

"It must need some kind of power to make it move," Sam thought out loud. "Anybody ever try to give it some juice?"

"They tried hooking it up to a generator. Got the triangular things to glow a little, but that was it."

"Like General Perkins claimed he saw in 1969, right?"

"Yeah, but he said all he really saw was a flash from the 'chevrons,' as he called them, some smoke along the edge of the ring, and then nothing. We've never been able to even get that much action out of the thing. And the weird part is, the airmen on duty claimed some people went _*through*_ the ring and disappeared. Of course it wasn't substantiated, and the airmen were removed from duty for some much needed counseling, so we don't know how much of their story is fact and how much is fiction."

"General Perkins didn't see anyone go through?" Sam asked.

"No, just what I've told you."

"Well, if Gary's translation is correct, and it is a 'doorway to heaven,' maybe the airmen weren't hallucinating. Maybe those people did go through a 'doorway' of some kind."

"But to where?" Barbara asked.

Sam looked over at her new colleague. "Your guess is as good as mine."

Sam was still musing over the day's discoveries as she entered her quarters. She could see how Catherine, and everyone working on the project had become obsessed with it. One day and she was already so preoccupied with her new assignment, she didn't notice a flower box sitting on the coffee table until she'd been staring at it for some time.

Shrugging off her jacket, Sam sighed. She hated it when Jonas apologized with flowers. Not only did it make her feel she'd over-reacted to a legitimate concern, she knew she he couldn't afford the gesture. If he felt he couldn't just call her and apologize, why couldn't he send a card or something else that wasn't so expensive? It made her feel all the more guilty. Could that be the point? No, Jonas loved her. He only wanted to let her know how much.

Removing the lid, Sam noticed a mixture of daisies, carnations and other bright flowers surrounding a small teddy bear with a forlorn look on it's face. It was holding a heart which read: I'm sorry. Shaking her head, Sam pulled the flowers from the tissue. She had to admit, it was cute, but Jonas needed to get a new book other than "The Language Of Flowers." At least this bouquet wasn't some huge monstrosity, and she _*could*_ use the coffee cup/vase when the flowers died. She was deciding where she was going to put it when she heard Sheila opening their door.

? "Looks like you guys had another fight," she observed, taking off her coat and hanging it near the entrance.

"No, not really," Sam said.

"Hey, for someone who just got flowers you don't seem very happy!"

"I feel like he's manipulating me," Sam said, holding the flowers in her outstretched hand as if she found them offensive. "We argued about my new job last night. I guess I should have been expecting these."

"Don't look a gift horse in the mouth!" Sheila said, taking the flowers from her to examine them more closely. "I wish Darnel was half as romantic."

"But is it romantic? I mean, I suppose it is, but he also knows I can't yell at him when he's done something nice for me. Sheila, his attitude about what I do was way off base! Uh, no pun intended," she smiled. "Not only that, it's hypocritical! He can have this 'ultra secret' existence, and expect me just to accept it? So when my work becomes more classified, it's okay for him to pitch a fit? And now I have to call him, thank him for the flowers, which in essence is me saying he was right and I'm wrong. But I'm _*not*_ wrong!"

"Then don't call him," Sheila said, placing the flowers on the coffee table next to the box.

"Then it looks like I'm some ungrateful bitch, and he was right to pick a fight with me," Sam said, grinding her palms into her eyes as she flopped onto the sofa. Running her fingers through her hair, she looked up at Sheila. "What would you do?"

"Hey, don't get me involved here," she said, holding out her hands, backing away. Besides, what I would do and what you would do are two totally different things. If this is really bugging you, Sam, you're going to have to learn to stand up to him or you're going to have one hell of a lopsided marriage."

Sam blew out a breath. "Yeah, I know. I just don't want to fight anymore." Then she smiled at her room mate. "Mostly because I don't know where I'd go with more flowers!"

Sheila laughed, squeezing her shoulder. "You'll do the right thing. You always do."

Sheila headed for her room as Sam picked up the phone. She almost hoped he wasn't there so she could leave a quick message on Jonas' machine and be done with it. Her luck had run out.

"Hello?"

"Hi, Jonas."

"Sam! You must have gotten the flowers!"

"Uh, yeah, about that. . . ." she cleared her throat. "Jonas, I really appreciate the gesture, but you know it wasn't necessary. We had a disagreement. You make me feel like our argument over my new job is a big deal. It's not." There was a silence on the other end of the line. "Jonas?"

"I'm sorry you didn't like them," he whispered.

"Jonas! I love the flowers! They're beautiful! But they were a waste of money!"

"It's my money! If I want to send the woman I love flowers every day I will!"

Sam pulled her knees up to her chest, curling herself into a ball. "That's not what I mean and you know it! Are we going to fight about the flowers now?"

"I don't want to fight with you, Sam. That's why I sent the flowers. It chews me up inside when I think you're not happy."

Sam rubbed her fingers across her eyebrows. "I don't want to fight with you either, Jonas. What's the big deal about me getting a new posting anyway? I thought you'd be happy for me!"

There was a pause, then, "I *am* happy for you. I guess I. . . ."

"What? You guess what?"

"I guess I'm a little jealous, okay? Here you got this great new job that's got you all fired up, I guess I thought you wouldn't have time to miss me." She was straining to hear him by the end of his confession.

"Oh, Jonas! How could you even think that? I miss you all the time! And I called you first thing because I wanted to share my excitement with you, _*because*_ I miss you!"

"I've got some news, too."

"You're getting out of Special Ops?" she asked hopefully.

"I can't quit, you know that! No, this is about me moving closer. I think I'm getting closer to my transfer to Peterson."

"Jonas that's great! I think half the problem is we don't see each other enough! If you're living here I'm sure things will be better!"

"I should hear something by the end of the week. So, you really want me there?"

"You get your butt up here, and I'll show you how much I want you!"

"We're okay, then?" he asked tentatively.

"We're okay. Providing you don't send me any more flowers!" she teased.

"Well, don't give me a reason to, and we won't have a problem." His tone was light, but Sam wondered for a moment if there wasn't a bit of a warning in his statement.

"I should go," Sam said. "We ran up quite bill last night. Let me know the minute you hear about your transfer, all right?"

"You'll be the first to know. Well, after me, of course. I love you, Sam."

"I love you too. Bye." She hung up the phone, staring at it for a moment. They had settled things, hadn't they? Jonas had a way of turning things around on her that sometimes she wasn't sure she'd made her point or not.

Sheila poked her head out from her room. "Things okay in Paradise?"

"Yeah. He said he's getting closer to his transfer," she said.

"That's got to be good news, right?"

"Sure," Sam said, standing and collecting her coat and flowers. "It's great news."

"Well, try to contain your enthusiasm, okay? I mean I don't want the neighbors calling the MPs or anything."

Sam gave her bright smile. "I'm happy about it, really. He always has me a little disoriented, you know? I wish I knew what was going on in that head of his."

"Hey, you figure out what men are thinking you'll be the richest woman in the world!"

Sam gave a short laugh. "And they say *we're* confusing!"

Sam sat her desk, toying with her coffee cup. It was the one her flowers had come in a week ago, and she'd brought it to work as a remembrance of Jonas. The pink ceramic was a bit garish for her, but the sentiment of "thinking of you" glazed on both sides made her smile.

"You look a million miles away," Catherine observed, taking a cup of coffee herself.

"Actually, I'm a lot closer than that," Sam said, raising the cup to her lips. "I'm in the room with the ring."

"Well, you won't be the first, or the last to be lost in contemplation on it."

"I just can't get past Gary's translation of "doorway to heaven," Sam said, placing her coffee cup on the desk. "I realize it's a metaphor, but what if it's more literal than we think?"

"I'm not sure I follow you, "Catherine said.

"Okay, doorway could mean 'entrance,' or 'portal' or 'gate' or 'gateway.' Heaven could mean 'paradise,' or 'nirvana.' What if it has some kind of hallucinogenic effect? If it was used in some kind of religious rite, maybe something about it causes visions. Doorway to Heaven might mean a way to bliss, to understanding. It also might explain about those airmen who thought they saw people go through the ring-it might have been some narcotic side effect or something."

"But what about the other meanings of Heaven," Catherine offered. "'Sky,' or 'cosmos?'

"Door to the cosmos? That's an interesting thought," Sam said, leaning back in her chair. "This is one hell of a mystery to unlock." She sat tapping her fingers on the surface of her desk when suddenly she looked up at Catherine.

"That's it! A lock!"

"What do you mean?"

"What do most doors have to keep out unwanted elements?" Sam asked, grinning as her idea took hold, beginning to form.

Catherine looked confused.

"A lock!" Sam cried, getting to her feet. "Come on. Let's go have another look at the ring."

"Samantha," Catherine said in an almost maternal tone, "what are you talking about?"

"I'll explain it on the way," she said, ushering the older woman out the door. "Okay, what kinds of locks are there? Ones that need keys, ones that have combinations, right? What if that inner track is like a giant combination lock?"

"I suppose it's possible," Catherine said, still a little off-balance by Sam's almost cryptic ebullience. "But how do we know what the 'combination' is? There's thirty-nine symbols on the inner ring, and how do we know how many 'stops' are necessary?"

"Well, there's nine 'chevrons,' as General Perkins called them. Maybe we need a sequence of nine symbols."

"Do you have any idea the number of possible combinations that is?" Catherine asked as she swiped her card to gain access to the ring room.

"Isn't that one of the reasons you have three super computers and a mathematician on your staff?" Sam grinned.

Catherine merely raised her eyebrows in agreement.

Once in the room, Sam began to circle the ring. There had to be some way to get it enough power to move the inner track. But how to do that was a mystery. It wasn't like there was a cord attached they could plug in somewhere.

"Barbara told me you tried to hook a generator up to the ring before."

"Yes, but not with much success. I don't know if we didn't have enough power, or we just didn't know what we were doing. I suspect it was the latter."

Sam smiled at Catherine's observation. "I pretty much said the same thing to Barbara. I feel like a caveman who's been given a computer but don't even have the slightest idea how to turn it on, much less operate it."

"That's why we tried the generator in the first place," Catherine said. "Once it's turned on, then we can begin to try to understand how to use it."

"So, maybe it needs more power. How do we do that?"

"I suppose we need a bigger generator. Perhaps a more efficient way of transferring that power. I'll talk to some of our electricians, they should have some ideas."

"If only this thing had come with an owner's manual," Sam quipped as they left the room.

"Well, it sort of did. The cover stones seem to have some clues on them. I know you haven't had a lot of time to study them, but perhaps if you talked to Gary, you might get some more ideas."

"I think I will." Sam started to head toward the room where the stones were stored when Catherine put a hand on her arm, stopping her.

"You did a good job today, Sam. In all this time none of us thought of the possibility of the inner ring being a lock. I think you're onto something."

"Well, sometimes all you need is a fresh pair of eyes," she shrugged.

"Don't sell yourself short, Samantha. I knew you were what we needed for this project. I only wish General West hadn't been so stubborn about assigning you."

"Then I guess I better earn my keep," she smiled. "I'll see what I can find out from Gary."

Sam and Gary tossed around ideas for several hours, but neither came to any conclusions about the object the stones had been covering. It seemed the symbols inscribed on the outer edge were simply a confirmation of what was beneath. Kind of like "yep, that's what's here so heed the warning." Gary laughed at her description, but had to agree it was apt. Sam didn't want to question him, since he was the authority on ancient languages, but the words seemed so ambiguous, she wondered if they couldn't be interpreted in more than one way. Some things just didn't seem to make sense, and she questioned if she wouldn't be better off starting from scratch on the ring.

In then end, Sam felt she'd learned no more about the object than she'd known at the beginning of the day. Well, that wasn't quite true. She felt she was onto something with her "lock" analogy. Now all she had to do was figure out how to make it work.

Sitting down at her desk to sift through more reports, Sam hadn't realized she'd fallen asleep until she felt someone's hand on her shoulder. She jerked awake, blinking her dry eyes.

"You been here all night?" Barbara asked, setting her bag down on her desk.

"I guess so," Sam answered, stretching and yawning. "I just sat down to do a little more research, and I guess I drifted off," she checked her watch. "For six hours."

"I'll cover for you this time, but you should know, Catherine doesn't like people burning the midnight oil around here. You start doing it too much and she's going to check with the sentries. Believe me, she might seem like your kindly Aunt Martha, but when she gets riled, you don't want to be in her way," Barbara warned. A smile of appreciation came her cross her face as she added, "how do you think this project got started or keeps going? She might be quiet, but she's a force to be reckoned with."

Sam rubbed her tired eyes. "I'll keep that in mind, thanks."

"No sweat, Kid. Hey! I hear you had a revelation yesterday!"

"I don't know that I'd call it a 'revelation,' but, yeah, I think I've got some place to start," Sam smiled, eager to put her latest ideas to work. When she'd been drifting off she had a thought about how to get the ring moving, and now she couldn't wait to test her theory.

After a quick clean-up in the restroom, Sam did her best to look refreshed and alert, should she run into Catherine. No one was in the command center at this early hour, for which she was grateful. She doubted the computer techs would appreciate her 'fiddling' with their stations any more than she'd tolerate someone messing with her projects.

Sam sat down at a keyboard and began typing. A small smile crossing her face as she saw her program start to take shape. This might work, she thought. It just might work.

Finishing up her work on the computers as the first of the techs arrived, Sam sought out Catherine.

Looking up from her desk, Catherine seemed surprised to see Sam. "Barbara told me you'd gotten here early; I'm surprised I didn't see you," she said, going over a list attached to a clipboard.

Sam looked across the room, giving Barbara a slight nod of thanks. "Yeah, I couldn't sleep, so I thought I'd get an early start. Look, Catherine, I suppose I should have waited for your approval, but I wrote and installed a program I think might get the inner track to work."

"You're kidding! Since this morning?"

"Well, I was thinking about it most of the night," Sam said, wondering why when she got a full-blown idea people found it so hard to believe. "I was thinking about the power as well. In General Perkins report, he states he saw smoke coming from the ring. What if it wasn't smoke, but steam?"

"Steam?" she asked, apparently running the idea around in her head. "It's possible, I suppose. John only saw it for a moment. It's possible he mistook vapor for smoke."

Sam was a bit surprised to hear Catherine referring to a general by his first name, but then again, as a civilian, it would have been a little clumsy continually addressing him by his rank.

"What makes _*you*_ think it's steam?" Barbara asked, joining the conversation.

"Think about it. Touching the ring it not only feels cool, but down right cold. I don't know what it is about the material it's made of that makes it feel cooler than room temperature. But if something hot came in contact with it, the result would be steam."

"Something like the heat generated by electrical connections," Catherine supplied.

"That's what I was thinking," Sam said.

Barbara took a long drag on her cigarette. "But we've already tried hooking it up to a power source. There was no smoke, steam. Nothing."

"What if it wasn't enough?" Sam said, looking between both women. "Something that massive has to take an incredible amount of energy to function. And have you done any tests on conductivity of the mineral? What if it's a poor conductor? That may have to be compensated for as well."

Catherine and Barbara exchanged glances. "It makes sense," Barbara shrugged. "I don't think anyone's thought to check out that angle of the ring."

Catherine picked up a phone on her desk, asking to speak to the head electrician. After a moment she handed the receiver to Sam. "This is your idea, perhaps you can explain it better."

It wasn't a long conversation as Sam merely asked to meet him in the ring room. Trying to clarify what she wanted would be easier with the object in front of them.

With Catherine and Barbara in tow, Sam wasn't surprised to see Gary join their ranks. She felt a little self-conscious at having an audience, but she understood their interest. If she was in their position she'd be curious too.

Once everyone was assembled, Sam outlined her plan, trying to ignore the whispering of her colleagues. From the sound of things, they didn't have a lot of faith in her idea, but Sam was confident. If this didn't work, she knew she had to be close.

While the electricians were busy gathering their materials, Sam took the three with her into the command center where she explained the computer program she'd written.

"Okay, here's the basics," she said. "I've asked the electrical guys to hook the ring up to the main transformer. After discussing it with them, they thought using the clamps holding the ring would be the most effective way of transferring current. That's what the engineer's new guy, Siler, suggested, and I agree."

"So once it has power, then what?" Gary asked.

"Then we try to use the program I wrote this morning to get the inner track to move. After that, it's anyone's guess what could happen."

Upon hearing someone had been working with the computers, one of the techs started to protest. However, Catherine waved him down, stating Sam had her permission. Sharing a secret smile, Sam thanked Catherine for backing her up after-the-fact. It seemed several people were looking out for her that day!

"My thought is once the dialing program starts. . ."

"Wait a second, 'dialing program?'" Barbara asked.

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "The whole thing reminds me of a giant rotary telephone, so, it's kind of like dialing a symbol instead of a number."

Barbara tried to cover her grin. "When you put it like that, I guess it's as good a name as any."

Catherine too looked down to hide her smile. "You do have a unique perspective, Captain Carter."

"Let's just hope I'm right."

It took over an hour for the engineers to hook the ring up to the lower base's main source of power. For an hour, Sam spent pacing, then tweaking her program, then tapping her fingers on the console in front of her. Catherine and the others had wandered off to pursue other interests as Sam waited for the electricians to finish.

"All set, Captain Carter," Siler called out as the men began to evacuate the room. Sam had Catherine and the others paged, and once they arrived, Siler threw the main switch. For a moment there was only the hum of high voltage, then steam rising from where the clamps connected with the ring.

"You were right," Barbara said in awe.

"Maybe about the steam, but let's see if I hit a home run," Sam said, leaning over a keyboard, typing in commands. Slowly, the closest chevrons to the clamps began to glow. Not much at first, but the light grew stronger the longer electricity flowed into the ring.

Before long, all the chevrons were glowing quite brightly, but that was the extent of the object's display. Sam initiated the program, which seemed to be functioning, but nothing was happening.

"Maybe someone should kick it," Gary joked.

"Actually, that's not a bad idea," Sam said, grasping the microphone to the ring room.

"Sergeant Siler? Is there anything blocking the inner track that would keep it from moving?"

Siler approached slowly, glancing up at the glowing ring as if he expected it to suddenly come alive. Swallowing, he called out. "Um, not that I can see, Captain."

Looking over at Gary Sam smiled. "Dr. Meyers' suggested kicking it. What do you think?"

"Well, with all due respect, Ma'am, with that kind of charge circulating through the object, I don't think it would be wise to touch it. It's not exactly an electric fence."

"Hang on, I'll be down in a minute."

"Sam?" Catherine asked, lying her hand on the woman's arm. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Something's preventing the program functioning. I'm going to find out what it is."

"That could be dangerous. You've already gotten further with the ring than any of us have. Perhaps we should turn off the power, analyze what we've seen and then you can try it again."

"Catherine, I'm almost there, I know it. Just let me get a closer look. I promise I'll be careful."

Reluctantly, Catherine removed her hand, allowing Sam to leave the command center. Entering the ring room, Sam could really hear the whine of electrical current, and felt a knot of tension form in her stomach.

"I don't know what more you can do," Siler said, speaking over the din in the room.

"This should be working," Sam muttered as she walked around the ring. She could feel the heat radiating from the circle and the thought of radiation crossed her mind. "Catherine? Are you taking any readings off this? Radiation? Electrical usage? Any thing else that might give us a clue as to what it does?"

"We're on it," she heard Catherine reply over the loudspeakers. After a moment she spoke again. "I'm not getting any dangerous radiation readings, but there's EM energy that's off the scale. I don't think you're in any jeopardy being in the room with it."

"That's a relief," Siler said, giving Sam a weak smile.

"I just don't see any reason why it's not moving," Sam said, exasperated. Looking around the room, she spotted a rather heavy looking wrench. Picking it up, Sam gauged the force and direction she'd have to throw it to connect with the ring.

"Captain?" Siler asked, seeing her pick up the tool. "What are you doing?"

"Throwing a bone at the monolith," she said as she threw the wrench as hard as she could. The metal made contact with the ring, causing a shower of sparks. Siler grabbed Sam by her lab coat, dragging her back toward the door as the inner ring slowly began to turn, then picked up a little speed.

"No! Wait!" Sam cried, pulling away from Siler's grip. "It worked! It's moving!" A muffled cheer could be heard from the command center, then louder as the microphone became active.

"Well done, Dr. Carter!" Catherine congratulated her.

Sam couldn't contain the triumphant grin from spreading across her face. "What do you know?" she said, turning to Siler. "Gary was right; all it needed was a good, swift kick!"

It was late when Sam returned to her house, but she was still tingling with excitement. Slightly tipsy on celebritory champagne, she merely laughed when Sheila appeared from nowhere, obviously angry.

"Where the hell have you been? You don't come home all last night, you don't answer your pages, you don't even leave me a God-damned message to let me know you're alive! And on top of that, I've had to field Jonas' calls all night!"

Sheila's tirade only managed to make Sam's smile slip a little. "I'm sorry, Sheila. I should have called. I meant to, really, but I got so wrapped up with work, I guess I just forgot. I didn't plan on spending the night at NORAD, but I fell asleep at my desk. I'm sorry if I worried you."

"Yeah, well, I'm still mad at you. I was a basket case today!"

"It was really inconsiderate of me," Sam agreed.

"You could at least wipe the smile off your face if you're trying to convince me you're remorseful," she said, a smile of her own creeping across her features.

"I'm sorry! But you wouldn't believe the day I had. Sheila! I got something to work today Catherine and the others have been working on for thirteen _*years!*_ Well, partially work, anyway," Sam said, sailing through the living room, still high on her achievement. "This has been the most significant thing I've ever done!"

Sheila crossed her arms and leaned into the doorframe. "Gee, it's too bad you can't get a little more excited about it. Hey, look, I'm sorry I yelled, and I don't mean to act like anyone's mother, but I get worried when I don't hear from you. Especially after those attacks last week."

Sam ended her "flight" around the room by landing on the sofa. "I can take care of myself," she said, her tone reassuring. "I've had level three hand-to-hand combat training."

"Sam, I'm sure in most cases you can defend yourself, but one of the girls assaulted was an MP! And she was twice your size! I just worry when you keep such odd hours. Besides, Jonas keeps calling and getting me all paranoid."

"When did he call?"

"Which ten times? The first was a message on the machine, and then almost every hour after that. I told him you were tied up at work, all the while I was praying you weren't just plain tied up."

"I'll call him," she promised. "And from now on I'll leave you so many messages you'll know my schedule better than me, okay?"

"Okay," she smiled. "I'm going to go to bed, give you a little privacy when you call Jonas. Oh, and the mood he's in? I wouldn't be surprised if you get flowers tomorrow."

Sam laughed, throwing one of the small couch pillows at her room mate. "We're _*not*_ going to fight!"

"I wouldn't lay money on that!" Sheila taunted, dodging the pillow. "'Night, Sam."

"'Night, Sheila. Thanks for running interference for me with Jonas."

"No sweat. Just keep the shouting down," she grinned, disappearing into her room.

Sam sucked in a deep breath then slowly exhaled. Had she been trying to convince Sheila there would be no fight or herself? She knew Jonas was going to be upset, whether he had a right to be or not.

The phone hadn't even rung on her end before Jonas picked up.

"Hi, Jonas."

"Sam! God! Where have you been? Sheila must think I'm some kind of maniac with all the times I've called!"

"Well those weren't her exact words," she joked.

"Sam, this isn't funny! I was worried!"

Sam tried hard not to sigh. "Jonas, I'm sorry, okay? I really got wrapped up with something at work today. In fact, you won't believe this, but. . ."

"Christ, Sam! It's after eleven! You've been there all day?"

"Well, yeah, but. . ."

"You shouldn't work so hard."

"Jonas, it's not like I had a choice! I was in the middle of something! I can't just say, 'hey, sorry guys, it's 1700 hours, I gotta go before my fiancworries.'"

Almost as if she hadn't spoken, Jonas suddenly changed topics. "I got my transfer today. That's why I kept calling, I wanted to let you know the news."

"Jonas, that's wonderful! I think half the time we could avoid these arguments if you weren't so far away, or gone on so many missions."

"I can't help that they keep sending me out," Jonas said, his voice hard.

"And I can't help it when I have to work late on a project," Sam reminded him.

"Okay, you got me there," he finally agreed. "I'm going to move as soon as I can. You going to be around to help me settle in?"

"I think so, I can't promise anything, though." She didn't want to tell him she needed to get some flight time in. He'd attempted a second time to be reinstated as a pilot and his failure was still a sore spot with him.

"Try, okay?"

"I will. I should go. I love you."

"I love you, too, Sam. I can't wait to see you."

Sam hung up the phone, feeling strangely uneasy. It wasn't something she could put her finger on. She hated it when Jonas started lecturing on her work habits when his schedule was even more demanding than hers, but it was more than that. Maybe it was because he hadn't shown any interest in what she'd accomplished that day. Although she couldn't give him details, Sam was excited by what she'd done and he didn't even give her the chance to tell him. Well, he was probably just eager to tell her they would be together soon. Or as together as they could be with him gone so much. She began to wonder if this move would actually make much difference in the amount of time they spent together. She hoped so. Jonas might as well be a stranger for all she saw of him lately.

Disappointment seemed to follow Sam. After her initial success in getting the inner ring moving, she and the rest of her colleagues seemed to hit a brick wall. It was so frustrating to know they were starting to make progress, only to have that possibility taken away once more.

At least things were a little better at home, in a strange sort of way. Sam had practically moved in with Jonas-at least as far as the Air Force would allow. She still officially resided with Sheila, but every spare moment, she was at Jonas'. His room mate seemed to be on a schedule almost the opposite of Jonas, so it made it easy for Sam to stay over. Not that Steve cared. When he was home, he had so many different women, Sam joked he should have a "take a number" sign over the door to his room.

Sam and Jonas were curled up on the sofa, watching a rented movie when Jonas' hand started to wander. At first Sam just pushed his roving hand aside, but then he started getting a bit more insistent.

"Jonas! Come on! I really wanted to see this!"

"We can finish watching it later," he said, pulling her closer, nuzzling her neck.

Sam smiled but pushed him gently away. "There's only about a half an hour to go, and I have to go soon."

"I know, which is why I think we could be spending our time in better ways," he insisted, turning her face so she was looking at him rather than the TV.

Sam pulled her head from Jonas' grasp, sitting further up on the couch. "What part of 'no' didn't you understand?" she asked angrily.

Jonas sat up as well, running a hand through his short hair. "Message received loud and clear, Captain."

Softening at his hurt expression, Sam reached for the remote and turned off the television. "Jonas, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you angry, but everything always has to be on your terms lately. Would it have killed you to let me watch the end of the movie?"

Jonas hung his head. "No, it's just that you're going to be in Washington for the next few days, and before you get back, I'm going to be sent out. I thought we could spend some time together."

"I thought we were."

"You know what I meant, Generalette-Dr.-Ph.D." The words were teasing, but they were tinged with a bit of sarcasm as well. About the only time he brought up her degrees was when they were having an argument. Although this wasn't a full-scale fight like they've been having recently, she heard the resentment in his voice. It was ridiculous, but for some reason, especially lately, it bothered him she'd gotten further in school than he had.

Sam sighed. "Jonas, where is all this pressure coming from recently? You're constantly on me to set a date for the wedding, and I can't even watch a movie without you trying to dictate it!"

Jonas sat up and pushed her away as if he suddenly found her offensive. "I'm sorry I've been such a drag. Maybe they've got some kind of medal out there for putting up with me!"

"See? This is the kind of thing I'm talking about! I can't say anything to you without you getting defensive!" Taking a deep breath, she continued. "All I'm saying is that once in a while I'd like to decide what we do, and I'm not just talking about sex! You never want to go out anymore, socialize on any level. It's practically an act of God to get you to come over to my place and have dinner with Sheila and Darnel!"

"When I come home from a mission, I want to spend some time at home, is there anything wrong with that?"

"Of course not, but you're taking this to the extreme! I'm not saying you should be out in the bars every night-I'm glad you're not-but I don't think you realize how much pressure it puts on me. I always have to be available to do what you want to do, to be with you. I never seem to have the option of telling you I'm busy, or I'm going to be late, because you make it personal. Like because I have something to do, it's an attack on you personally."

"I love you. I want to be with you."

Trying not to sigh, Sam said, "it's not a matter of loving you or not. I love being with you too, but there are times I have other commitments and you have to understand that. It's not going to get any easier once we're married. The only difference is going to be I don't have a different address. Getting married isn't going to solve our problems."

"I didn't know we were having problems," he said, looking up at her as if she'd completely lost her mind. "What problems are we having?"

"Jonas! I just told you! This a prime example! You hear only what you want to hear, and you don't like it when I try to point it out." Sam rubbed her fingers across her forehead. "Look, maybe it would just be better if I went home. I'm tired, I've got a big day tomorrow, you've got drills. . . ."

"Fine. If that's what you want, just go. You know what your trouble is, Sam? You're used to always getting your way. Daddy's Little Girl who only has to stomp her foot and the world will rearrange itself to suit her. I don't need someone like you telling me _*I'm*_ dictatorial."

Sam's eyes grew wide with shock. Totally speechless, she tried to swallow the lump that had formed in her throat as she reached for her jacket. "I, uh, guess I'll see you when you get back?"

"Sure! Why not? Why don't you pencil me in for Tuesday at 2000."

Sam blinked back tears as Jonas turned his back to her, not even bothering to get off the sofa. Without another word, she quietly left his house; the sound of the door closing behind her was as loud as if she'd slammed it.

Once in the cool night air, the tears that had threatened began to flow. She wasn't sobbing, or hysterical. The excess moisture simply refused to be blinked away any longer, and slowly ran over her cheeks.

She couldn't understand what was happening with them. She thought for sure once he lived closer, the arguments about spending time together would cease. Instead, they seemed to be getting worse. Jonas wanted to know where she was at any given hour, and the answer of "work," didn't seem to satisfy him. She remembered one particularly bitter fight they'd had when she'd told him she was working when in fact she'd just arrived home. He accused her of lying in an attempt to avoid him, and it had taken many hours of placating him before he actually believed her. Or at least let the subject drop.

When had he become so paranoid? And if he was still in therapy, would he be exhibiting such behavior? She didn't have to ask Jonas to know he hadn't seen Dr. Fredricks in some time. And she was sure he hadn't talked to anyone since coming to Peterson. Didn't he realize he needed to talk to someone even more now that he was in Special Ops? It wouldn't be so bad if he'd talk to her, but when ever she brought up the subject, Jonas immediately shut down, claiming he had enough of his missions when he was on them.

Of course she wasn't entirely blameless. She let him get away with that kind of behavior just so they wouldn't fight, but where was it going to end? He kept pressuring her to set a wedding date, but the more Sam thought about it, the less sure she was she wanted to marry him. It wasn't a matter of love. She loved him and wanted to be with him, but not when he was in a mood like this. Now she had the option of walking away, but what about after they were married?

Looking up, Sam realized she was at her door. Contemplating walking on to try to sort out her feelings, she thought it might be better if she talked to Sheila. Opening the door, Sam caught Darnel and Sheila in a rather intimate embrace. Fortunately for everyone, clothing was still on, just slightly askew.

"Oh, God, guys! I'm sorry!" Sam gasped as she began to back out of the door.

Struggling to her feet, Sheila called out, "Sam! Wait! You don't have to go!" She was straightening her sweater as she caught Sam just outside the entrance. Pulling the door shut behind her, Sheila's hand reached out to keep Sam from leaving the porch.

"Sheila, I'm so sorry, I didn't know Darnel was coming over tonight and I. . ."

"Sam! It's okay! I didn't know he was coming over either. I just figured as long as you were at Jonas' you probably wouldn't be home until late, or at all."

Wrapping her arms around herself, Sam tried not to shiver as the cold only seemed heightened by her emotional state.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Sheila asked. "You guys fight again?"

"Yeah," Sam whispered. "About the same old stupid stuff. He just doesn't get it, Sheila! I don't know how many times I've tried to talk to him about this 'control' thing he's got going on, but he just doesn't see it. He says it's all me, that I'm the one causing the problems. That once I set a date, everything is going to be fine. But what good is that going to do?" Sam asked, looking up at the concerned face of her friend. "The same problems are going to be there. Frankly, I don't know how smart it is going into a marriage with these kinds of issues between us."

"You did right by not giving into him," Sheila said, putting her arm over her shoulder. "And don't let him pressure you into getting married if you're not comfortable with it."

Sam wiped her eyes, nodding.

"Come inside. I'll make you some hot chocolate and we'll talk some more, okay?"

"What about Darnel?"

"I'll make him some hot chocolate too," she smiled.

"Sheila, I don't want to ruin your evening!"

"You're not ruing anything. Darnel understands. In fact, I don't think he's one of Jonas' biggest fans," Sheila confessed.

Sam's head popped up. "I didn't know he didn't like him."

"I didn't say that. He's just mentioned he doesn't like the way Jonas treats you. To be honest, neither do I."

"I wish you would have known him when I first met him. He was so thoughtful. It's hard to believe he could change so much in a little more than a year."

"He's in one of the most stressful jobs the Air Force has. I can't say I'm surprised."

"I know. If he's so big on us getting married, thinking it will solve our problems, why isn't he trying to do something other than Special Ops? It's eating him alive and he won't even consider a transfer. It's like he's still trying to punish himself for the loss of his men in the Gulf. I don't expect him to get over something like that, but he doesn't see how this is hurting me as much as it is him."

"Or maybe he does."

"What are you saying?"

"I don't think he's intentionally trying to hurt you, Sam. I believe there's a part of him that truly loves you, but on a subconscious level I think he resents you as well."

"Resents me?

"Well, think about it, you're everything he's not. You come from a well-respected military family; your father's a General; you're smart; you have a great military record with your performance in Desert Storm. Shall I go on?"

"But Sheila, that's what makes his accomplishments all that much more than mine! He's overcome so many obstacles and he keeps going!"

"I'm just saying it might be how he views things. And if he has 'control' over you, he's proving to himself he's just as good as you. Even though he acts arrogant, I think deep down he doesn't feel worthy of you, and once you're finally married to him, he's going to think he's 'made it.'"

"I guess I never thought of it that way," Sam said quietly. Looking back up at Sheila she said, "I don't know how to convince him he's wrong, when he'll just deny that's why he's acting this way. And I can't marry him just to shore up his ego."

"I don't think you should," Sheila said. "I'm not saying you have to break things off with him but maybe just some time apart?"

Sam laughed. "All we have is time apart. I don't know if that's the answer. I just wish he hadn't stopped his therapy," she said, looking down at her hands. "It seemed to be helping, but I think he thought he was 'cured' because things were good between us."

"Look," Sheila said, "I don't think we're going to solve the world's problems out here, freezing on the porch. Let's go get that hot chocolate and talk some more inside, okay?"

Sam gave her a weak smile, nodding. "Thanks Sheila. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Sam sat at her desk, twirling a pen, staring off into space. She didn't notice Barbara enter the office, but looked up at the sound of her voice.

"Hey! I know that look! It's either man trouble or an alien device that won't work."

"How about both?" Sam grinned, tossing the pen to her desk. "God, this is frustrating!"

"Which one?" Barbara smiled, filling her giant mug with coffee.

"Take your pick," Sam said, burying her face in her hands. "The trip to Washington was a total waste of time. Maybe if I'd been here we'd be closer to figuring out what the hell that *thing* in there is supposed to do! And poor Catherine! I really don't know how she's been able to do this for so long. One committee after another that won't make a decision until it has the results of the last committee. I would have gone crazy by now."

"Well, she does have a passion," Barbara agreed. "Or maybe it's an obsession. Who knows," she shrugged. "It pays my bills."

"You can't really mean that's the only thing that keeps you here, after all this time?"

Barbara sighed. "No, I have to admit I've grown kind of fond of the thing. And it would be terribly exasperating to get this far and not find out what the hell it's supposed to do."

"Especially lately with all the calculations you've run," Sam said, rising to refill her own coffee cup. "I take it nothing's come up yet?"

"Not yet, but we've got to be getting close; we're going to run out of combinations soon."

"Look, I know this whole sequence thing is your area, but would you mind if I took a look at it?"

"Of course not. A fresh pair of eyes always helps. It certainly did with getting that, what did you call it? 'dialing program,' to work."

"For all the good it's done us," Sam said, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Well, if nothing else, we've gotten the ring to spin a little easier, figured out just how much juice it needs to do whatever it is it does."

"There is that, I suppose," Sam said, her voice still sounding disappointed. "So where are Gary and Catherine this morning?"

"Gary found some old text in a used bookstore over the weekend. He said it mentions the "doorway to heaven."

"Really?" Sam asked, "I got the impression the whole subject of the ring was taboo among the Egyptians, considering there hasn't been any other reference to it. That's been found, anyway.

"Either that, or we just haven't been looking in the right places," Barbara said, lighting her ever-present cigarette. At Sam's disapproving glance, she said, "yeah, I know. I'm going to quit one of these days." Hesitating slightly, Barbara snuffed out the cigarette she'd just lit. "Happy now?"

"Did I say anything?"

"No, but your look spoke volumes. I'm going to see what Gary's come up with; want to join me?"

Sam looked at the cluttered state of her desk. She wasn't getting anything accomplished this way. Maybe Gary's book might spark some idea. "Sure. Think we should bring them some coffee?"

"They'll love you forever," Barbara said as she collected cups and Sam grabbed the pot.

Showing their passes to the guard on duty, Sam and Barbara pushed open one of the big double doors to the room housing the cover stones.

Gary and Catherine were huddled together, looking from the book they shared to the tablets suspended before them.

"Find anything?" Barbara called out, causing both to look up.

"Possibly," Catherine said, huge grin on her face. "Gary, perhaps you can explain."

"I was digging around Sheffield's bookstore this weekend and while I was talking to. . ."

"Maybe start with the more pertinent information?" Catherine prompted.

"Oh, yes, well, this is a book on recently discovered Egyptian papyri. Recently for the publisher, I guess," he said flipping the pages forward to check the copyright.

"Gary," Catherine gently prodded.

"Yes, anyway, there's a picture of a papyrus here which mentions the 'doorway that is no more.' Now that could mean any number of things, but look here," he said, holding the book out to show Sam and Barbara.

"Those are the symbols from the cover stones," Barbara said, looking up at the suspended tablets. "I thought you said you'd never seen them in any kind of Egyptian writing you've ever studied."

"I haven't. That's what makes this so fascinating!"

"The symbols are just in a line, not circular like on the stones. Does that mean something?" Sam asked.

"Possibly, but I don't know what. But here's there clincher," he said, pointing to a cartouche in the lower right corner.

"That's the same cartouche that's on the center of the cover stones. The one that contains the unique symbols," Sam stated. "the fact that it showed up on this papyrus as well has got to mean something."

"They're also some of the same symbols that are on the device," Catherine reminded them, touching the first symbol of the cartouche and then it's match on the outer ring. "What if this is the 'key' we're looking for? What if Sam's analogy of a lock is correct and this is the 'combination?'"

"But there's nine chevrons," Sam said, "and only six symbols within the cartouche."

"Maybe all nine aren't needed?" Gary offered.

Sam looked at her colleagues. "Oh, it couldn't be _*that*_ simple! Don't tell me the answer's been staring us in the face all this time!"

"Just because it's not something we're familiar with doesn't mean it can't be easily understood," Catherine said, a grin creeping across her features.

"Well, what are we standing here for?" Barbara asked. "Shouldn't we be testing this theory instead of talking about it?"

They'd made the journey to the command center in record time, each issuing orders to technicians, who were confused by the sudden activity.

"Start the ring," Barbara ordered. With a grinding noise, the huge inner ring began to move. Sam was bent over a keyboard, rapidly typing.

"Get a close up of the ring on that center monitor," Gary said. The ring completed almost a full turn before it suddenly stopped. The triangle closest to the left side of the ramp glowed brighter, expanded then closed once more as the ring began to spin again.

"Whoa!" Gary called out. "Did you see that?"

"Yes!" Catherine's excited voice answered. "Is this being recorded?"

"Yes, Ma'am," a female technician answered, double checking to make sure the data was indeed being saved. Figures and mathematical quotations were filling additional monitors, scrolling down faster than they could be read.

"I'm going to try another one," Sam announced as she bent over the keyboard once more. The ring came to an abrupt halt once more, and the next chevron up repeated the same "expansion" move as it's predecessor.

"Do the rest," Catherine told Sam and they watched in awe as the remaining four chevrons performed in the same manner. The ring was smoking, and rumbling so loudly they had to shout at each other to be heard over the din, but nothing of consequence happened. It was obvious the device was on the verge of performing it's function, but it was as if it was missing something.

"Maybe it needs those other symbols!" Barbara yelled into Catherine's ear. Even as she was finishing her sentence, the noise and vibration suddenly stopped; the chevrons gray once more.

They all took a step back, somewhat surprised by the sudden stillness.

"Well," Gary said, seemingly at the same loss for words Sam felt.

"Try it again," Catherine instructed. "This time do the entire sequence at once. Perhaps it was the 'gap' that stopped it."

Sam re-initialized the program and the ring started to spin once more. One after the other the chevrons "locked" and upon reaching the sixth symbol, the same thing happened as before. After a few minutes of rumbling, the ring shut down again, leaving everyone in the room speechless. Moments later the silence was shattered by the shrill sound of a telephone. Catherine gave Sam a timid look, as if to say she knew who was on the other end.

"General West," Catherine spoke into the receiver without even bothering to ask who was calling.

Sam couldn't make out the actual words, as Catherine kept the phone close to her ear, but there was no mistaking his angry tone.

"Yes, General. I understand. Good-bye."

Slowly hanging up the phone, Catherine shifted her gaze from Barbara, to Sam, then to Gary. "We're expecting a guest."

The look on General West's face settled any doubts Sam had about the reason he was sitting in the conference room. He was pissed. Looking over at Catherine, Sam recognized her controlled frustration. Hand's clasped, knuckles white, she sat upright at the edge of her seat, reflecting the temper she barely had under control.

General West, was leaning forward, forearms on the polished wood of he conference table. It was the only thing in the room that wasn't dull and utilitarian, and for that fact, stuck out like a sore thumb.

Sam couldn't believe she was passively taking in details the decor while the fate of her project hung in the balance. Well, maybe not _*her*_ project necessarily, but an assignment she cared about nonetheless. She couldn't be as flippant as Barbara about the project merely making rent payments. This meant something to her, and Sam was a bit taken aback to realize just how much it _*did*_ mean to her.

Sure, she wanted to know what it was, what made the thing tick, but it was more than that. There was something about the ring that pulled at her in a way nothing ever had. This was what she was meant to do. She'd been so sure NASA was where she belonged, but could anything rival the thrill of discovering something that by all rights shouldn't exist on Earth? While she was out looking for her life's calling, it came looking for her. And it was under her feet all along.

"_*Dr*_ Langford," General West began. "Were you or were you not instructed to inform me when you planned to conduct any types of experiments on the object?"

"General West, this was no more than a routine test, and I've been assured of _*complete*_ autonomy not only from your superiors, but the Pentagon as well."

"You're going to sit there and tell me some. . .test, that shook this _*entire*_ facility, a facility, which may I remind you, was designed to withstand a nuclear shock wave, posed no threat? That 'tremor' was enough to knock books off my shelves! I had to tell my people it was a minor earthquake. How long do you think it's going to take a room full of bright people to figure out it was localized?"

"Probably not long at all, General." Catherine was absolutely stone-faced. Actually, Sam was a bit surprised Catherine sounded so unconcerned. Sam herself couldn't say with certainty the trial had been benign. What if the set of six symbols _*had*_ worked? No one knew what the outcome might have been. Not that she had thought twice about trying the device. She was as eager as the rest of them to try out their theory.

"General West, Project Giza is a *civilian* project, and as such we're not subject to your autocratic dictates." Catherine was barely holding it together. It would seem all her politicking of late was finally taking it's toll.

"A project _*hosted*_ by the U. S. Military, and as such you _*will*_? report to me or you'll find someplace or someone else to foot your research bill. Frankly, I don't think you'll find it."

Catherine gave the general a smug smile. "Oh, I don't think you'll be handing us our eviction notice anytime in the near future." Leaning forward she added. "You know as well as I that the secrecy of this project it top priority. Which is why the government so _*graciously*_ offered to fund the proposal in the first place."

General West matched Catherine's posture. "Are you threatening me, Doctor?"

Relaxing back into her chair, Catherine's face was the picture of innocence. "Of course not, General. That would imply I have something to hide. You're more than welcome to take a look at our test results."

Sighing, General West rubbed his thumb and forefinger across his brow. "I'm increasing security patrols, Doctor. I won't interfere with your job, and you won't interfere with mine. Is that clear?"

Catherine was about to protest, but Sam put her hand on her arm, giving her head a slight shake.

"Very well, General. I believe we have a compromise."

Once the General had left the room, Catherine turned to Sam. "Why did you stop me? We have every right to run this project as we see fit!"

"Catherine, please. I'm not a fan of General West's either, but you have to look at this from his side as well. What if something *did* happen when we input those symbols? For all we know it could be some kind of weapon, and that's why the Egyptians buried it.

"And you think a few soldiers with hand-held firearms would have made a difference?"

"Of course not, but the general has a point-we did rush into this. And I'm just as much at fault as anyone. All I'm saying is he's got a lot of responsibility and it doesn't help matters when we're playing around with God-knows-what. We might as well be children with a box of matches in a room full of gunpowder."

It took Catherine a moment, but eventually her shoulders sagged a bit. "I know you're right." Looking back up at Sam she said. "If you only knew how many self-righteous asses I've had to deal with over the course of this project, I think you'd be a little more sympathetic."

"Oh, that trip we took to Washington was more than enough to convince me," Sam smiled. "But West is right. We can't keep acting so irresponsibly. Not that he's going to have any more of a clue about what's going to happen than we are, but if we humor him a little, he might not be so overbearing."

Catherine slung her arm around Sam's shoulders. "You know, Captain, I think you have a great future in schmoozing."

Once again, after their initial success, work on the ring came to a stand still. Sam, Barbara, Gary and Catherine were completely bewildered. Something was missing, but none of them could find it.

The four sat in their lab, each mulling over what the problem could be while pretending to be going over data they'd viewed hundreds of times. Barbara's ashtray was over flowing, and still she was reaching for another cigarette. Sam had drunk so much coffee she felt like she wouldn't sleep for a week.

"The first six symbols were on the cover stones. The ones we need _*have*_ to be there somewhere!" Sam cried in frustration.

"Do they?" Gary asked. "I mean what if they were purposely left off the cover stones so the device *couldn't* be activated? If the ancient Egyptians feared it enough to bury it, chances are they wouldn't put the full sequence on the stones."

Catherine looked up from her own desk at Gary's words. "Or what if they're there, but we're not reading it right?"

Gary sighed as he helped himself to the last of the coffee. "Catherine, we've been over this. To my knowledge, we've interpreted the hieroglyphs correctly. I've cross-referenced every text I know in my reading of the glyphs. The message on the stones is as accurate as we can be thousands of years later."

"What do you know of a Dr. Daniel Jackson?" Catherine asked, tossing a newspaper onto Gary's desk; an article and picture circled.

Retaking his seat, Gary picked up the paper, glancing at the short review. "Radical thinker. Claims Egyptian writing is older than we know it to be. Pretty much a heretic among the academic community."

"You believe he's mistaken?"

"Well, his evidence is flimsy at best. Some have even joked he thinks Egyptian writing comes from an extra-terrestrial source." Gary chuckled as he sipped his coffee, but Catherine's face was sober.

"And what would you call that?" Catherine asked, pointing in the general direction of the ring room. "A two story ring made of a material not found on Earth with glyphs no one seems to be able to read, or has seen before. What does that suggest to you, Dr. Meyers?"

Gary started to stumble for an explanation as Catherine snatched the paper off his desk. "But his theories make no sense! Most of his work is based upon supposition!"

"Right now I'd take a soothsayer reading animal entrails if it would help us solve this mystery." Catherine looked around the room, her gaze touching on Barbara and Sam as well as Gary. "I haven't wanted to bring this up, because I'd hoped with the success we'd had with the six symbols we'd have something to bargain with." She looked down at her hands, then back up at each of the room's occupants. "As it is, the government isn't satisfied with our results. They feel nearly fifteen years has been too long and too costly for a venture that hasn't produced any 'viable' information. We have one shot left, people, and that's it. If we don't show some significant progress within the next six months, Project Giza is to be terminated."

Sam, Barbara and Gary all started protesting at once until Catherine held up her hands, trying to quiet them.

"I'm sorry," she said, the defeat in her voice heartbreaking. "You have no idea how hard I've fought for this project. It's been my life's work. My life's goal. Without it, I don't even know who I am."

Sam felt a lump forming in her throat. She couldn't imagine the anguish Catherine must be feeling. She'd had some disappointments in her life, seen some awful things, but this rivaled the loss of a child. This was Catherine's 'baby' even before she'd met General Perkins.

"Catherine, I don't know what to say," Sam whispered.

Suddenly the steel was back in the woman's voice, the spark of determination returned to her eyes. "Well, we're not giving up. We're not down for the count yet, and they're going to have to drag me kicking and screaming from this mountain at the end of those six months if we don't find something." Turning her attention to Gary, she said,

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to see Dr. Jackson. He's lecturing in Houston this weekend. It's not that I doubt your ability, Gary-you've done an excellent job-but I think it's time we looked at this from a different angle. I need someone who can think outside the box."

Gary's eyes were wide as he mutely nodded his head. Just then General West entered the lab.

"Good, you're all here," he said, taking a typical military stance; hands behind his back.

Catherine looked around the room, as shocked as anyone at the unannounced entrance of the general. Stepping forward, she spoke. "General? To what do we owe this honor?" It was apparent from her tone it was anything _*but*_ an honor.

"Dr. Langford, I've been in contact to my superiors and upon my recommendation, they've authorized me to take over this project." The words shocked all in the room, but none more than Catherine, who accepted a folder with the words "classified" stamped across it.

Swallowing, Catherine's voice was surprisingly calm. "General West, might we speak in private?"

"The matter has been decided, Doctor. Of course for appearance sake you'll be in charge, but this is now a military operation."

"Please, General. Surely you can spare me a few moments?"

Sighing, West agreed. Catherine turned to her staff. "If you would all excuse us, please?"

Darting a quick look at Barbara and Gary, Sam gave Catherine a short nod. By unspoken agreement, they gathered in the room with the cover stones.

"What was _*that*_ all about?" Barbara asked, patting the pockets of her lab coat in search of her pack of cigarettes. Realizing she'd left them on her desk, she crossed her arms to stifle her fidgeting.

"That is Catherine being reduced to a figurehead," Sam said bitterly. She loved the service, truly she did, but it's leaders could certainly use a pointer or two in the tact department. At least West hadn't removed her as head of the project in front of her entire staff. It was going to be bad enough when the word spread. With the way the rumor mill worked down here, it would be all over the lower levels even before General West returned to his office.

"So what will happen now?" Gary asked, looking at Sam, as if she could speak for the Air Force.

"Well, I can't say for sure, but you can bet you'll be seeing a lot more Airmen around here."

"Great," Gary mumbled. "Seems like everyone's getting replaced today."

Sam and Barbara exchanged a glance before Sam moved closer to Gary. "Catherine's not replacing you," she tried to reassure him. "She just wants another perspective in case we missed something."

"Just like the Air Force wants another perspective in case we've missed something?" Gary asked pointedly.

Sam looked down at her feet, unsure how to respond. He did have a point. No one seemed to know what to say, settling for looking around the room in mock interest. After about ten minutes, they heard the sound of one of the huge doors opening. Moving closer to the entrance, Sam noticed the shell-shocked expression on Catherine's pale face.

"Catherine? Are you all right?"

The woman's blue eyes blinked a few times, then focused on Sam. "I'm not sure."

"Sit down," Gary insisted, pulling a desk chair over for Catherine.

Barbara went to the hallway and returned with a glass of water, handing it to her. "What did West say?"

"He's. . .he's assigning a Colonel Jack O'Neill to the project."

Barbara looked at her colleagues. "Is that so bad?"

Catherine took another sip of her water before looking up at Sam. "Not in itself, but he's replacing Sam as our military liaison."

Sam was speechless for a moment, then found her voice. "But I'm not here as a representative of the Air Force," she said.

"Actually, you are," Catherine said.

Sam was genuinely confused. "I don't understand."

Sighing, Catherine elaborated. "When I first approached you about working on the project, I truly was interested in your scientific achievements. General West was less than enthusiastic about losing you to me, so I tried appealing to his sense of military protocol. I told him you would also be seen as our military advisor."

"Why wasn't I ever told this?" Sam asked, growing angry that Catherine hadn't seen fit to inform her of this aspect of her assignment.

"It really didn't seem necessary. This was a civilian project. The Air Force shouldn't have had a say in how things were conducted," Catherine shrugged. "That is until we tested the six chevrons the first time. Apparently West saw this as some kind of "threat." He demanded to know why as his 'liaison' you hadn't taken more caution with the initial testing, and why you hadn't informed him."

"But I was never asked to report to him, or talk to him for that matter!"

"I interceded on your behalf, and you were there when we came to the compromise of more guards. I thought that would be the end of it, so I never mentioned it."

"Catherine, I appreciate what you think you tried to do for me, but by not allowing me to _*be*_ a liaison to the General, I look incompetent, so he's bringing in this O'Neill to do a job I should have been doing!"

"Samantha, he assured me it's nothing personal, but he's worked with O'Neill before. He simply stated it would make things easier for him to coordinate his efforts. If it keeps West out of my hair, I won't argue."

"How do you no he won't be worse?" Barbara said.

"I guess I don't," Catherine smiled wryly.

"Sam, I have one more bit of news," Catherine said, looking down, unable to meet her gaze. "The General feels your talents can be better utilized elsewhere."

Sam wasn't sure she heard Catherine correctly. "Wha. . .what are you saying?"

"He feels one Air Force officer on the project is enough at this time, and he wants you reassigned."

Sam felt as though someone had just punched her in the stomach. "Reassigned? Catherine! I've given two years of my life to this project! _*Two years!*_ I don't want to sound self-important, but who was it that got the inner ring to move? Who wrote the dialing program? I think you'll agree I've made a _*major*_ contribution to this project!"

Catherine gave Sam a sad smile. "You're preaching to the choir, Sam. Those are the same points I brought up to him, but he's adamant about O'Neill. The only way I can keep you even remotely in the loop is to have you assigned as our liaison to the Pentagon."

Feeling her hands clenching into fists, Sam tried to calm down. Nothing was going to be solved by biting Catherine's head off. The woman was a much a victim as she was. "What was the General's response to that?" Sam asked, jaw tightly clenched.

"He said he'd take it under advisement."

"Which means he probably won't even consider me," Sam said. Her shoulder's sagged a bit as the reality of Catherine's revelation set in. She couldn't believe she was actually being cut from the project! Well, she wasn't going without a fight or an explanation. There had to be more to O'Neill's assignment than just stepping up security.

Sam sat before her computer, searching through service records. She'd tried the standard spelling of "O'Neil" with one "L" first, and when she'd come up short, she added the extra letter.

"Bingo," she mumbled as a brief, standard file appeared on her monitor. Short tour of duty at the end of Vietnam; Desert Storm; several missions listed only as "Special Ops." Then she came across something she found extremely puzzling: Colonel John "Jack" O'Neill had been retired for a year, scheduled to be re-activated within the week.

Sam sat back, staring at the computer screen. Why would General West be reinstating a Special Ops colonel to baby-sit a research project? She was confused enough about her own sudden drop from Catherine's program, but why this man? Why this colonel, and why now? What was it about their latest tests that had West so paranoid?

If it hadn't been for the fact they'd tried everything, she'd think he knew something he wasn't telling anyone else about. But there was no way he could know anything more about the ring then they did. Could he? Suddenly she remembered Catherine's mentioning lost records and files when the ring had been transferred to her care. Could those reports have surfaced? And if so, why would General West withhold what could be vital information?

Catherine entered the lab, shutting the door behind her. "Sam, I want you to know, I did everything possible to keep you on this project. I'm well aware you're our best hope for success."

Sam found her voice suddenly hoarse, swallowing she said, "I know, Catherine, and I thank you for that. I just wish I understood why O'Neill. Why now. Do you know anything about him?"

Catherine shook her head as Sam swiveled the computer's monitor in her direction. "Here's his service record," Sam said. "Not exactly a novel. He's done a lot of classified work over the years."

"Seems a bit over-qualified, if you ask me," Catherine said.

"Yeah, but here's the weird part. He's retired, and West is reactivating him. You can't tell me there isn't one officer under his current command he trusts with Project Giza?"

"You think he knows something," Catherine said.

"Well, don't _*you*_ think it's a little odd since we tested the six symbols West has found some way to override you in Washington? I'm not certain he _*does*_ know anything, but I think his rather sudden interest in the security of this project seems. . .unusual."

"Do you think he knows how to activate the ring?"

Sam blew out a breath, running her fingers through her hair. "No, I don't think that's it. If it was, I think he'd have told you or tried it himself by now. I think maybe your missing documentation has shown up." Sam's gaze met Catherine's as the woman's hand poised before her mouth, fingers tapping her lips in a now familiar gesture.

"That would be one explanation," Catherine agreed. "But why keep it a secret from us? If there _*is*_ evidence the ring does more than just shake and rumble, wouldn't it be in his-and the military's-best interest to work with us in stead of against us?"

"Unless his hands are tied as well," Sam observed. "Maybe this comes from higher up."

"Which is why I need you in Washington," Catherine stated. Sam was about to protest when Catherine stopped her. "Sam, I don't understand the reasoning behind West's decision, but I do know all our chances are a lot better at uncovering his motives if you're the one working at the Pentagon."

Sam clicked off her computer and removed her lab coat. "Then I guess I better go talk to the General and make sure I get reassigned."

Walking through the corridors, Sam was in no hurry to reach the elevators. Looking around at the cold, gray cement walls, she found she was going to miss the place, if not the people she'd come to think of as friends.

She didn't want to go to Washington. For one thing, she and Jonas needed to work on their relationship. Lately, the more she thought about marrying him, the more reasons she seemed to find _*not*_ to marry him. What happened to the sweet guy who used to call her every chance he got? Who only wanted to make her happy?

It wasn't the lack of romance. Sam never expected it to be "hearts and flowers" all the time, but there *should* be something, some "spark" that made being away from him difficult. Of course she missed him, and worried when he was off on a mission, but recently there were times when she was secretly glad he was gone, so she didn't have to explain her long hours, or the arguments they incurred. Was this the way a bride-to-be should be thinking?

Then the guilt would set in, making her wonder if *she* was the problem as Jonas often claimed. Was she being unreasonable, or was it him? Sheila seemed to side with her, but it wasn't a matter of taking sides. Besides, if her room mate was going to empathize with anyone, it would be her friend.

Sam was shaken from her musings as the elevator bumped to a halt on Level 11. Signing the exit form, Sam tried to focus her mind on the upcoming confrontation with General West. There could be no other word for it, as she knew this was going to be a battle.

Arriving outside the general's office, Sam gave her best impression of an Air Force officer. She'd grown lax, lately, working with civilians, even to the point where there were times she hadn't even saluted her superior officer when in his presence. She'd have to remedy that if she hoped to convince him she was the woman for the job.

She couldn't believe she was here to practically beg to be sent to Washington! It was the last place on Earth she wanted to go! Perhaps she should just forget about Project Giza and appeal to General West to reassign her to NASA. Go to Houston and forget the whole thing. Ironic that Catherine would be the one journeying there this weekend. Of course she wasn't going for the same reasons Sam wanted to.

However, Catherine was right-her best chance of helping the project and at least staying in on the fringe, would be to go to D.C. and fight for Catherine's right to head the program.

"Captain Carter?" General West's secretary recognized her. "Something I can help you with?"

"I'd like to speak to the General about an urgent matter," Sam said, hoping her voice was steadier than it seemed.

"Do you have an appointment?"

Sam's eyes narrowed at the brunette seated behind the desk. "No, this came up rather suddenly."

"I see. Well, the General did say he would probably be expecting you." The woman's smug tone grated on Sam, but she had to keep a rein on her temper if she hoped to see West. "I'll let him know you're here."

Sam took a seat in the lone chair outside the general's office, looking down at her blue fatigues. For some reason she felt out of place in the casual clothes, wishing she'd forestalled this meeting until she changed into her dress uniform. At the time, her attire was the last thing Sam had been thinking of. Whatever was decided in the next few minutes would have an impact on the rest of her life.

The door to West's office opened, and the General stuck his head out. "Captain Carter? I can see you now.

Quickly rising to her feet, Sam followed the general into the adjacent room. Coming to attention, she gave him a sharp salute.

"At ease, Captain," the general mumbled, taking a seat behind his desk. He declined to offer Sam a chair, but she didn't mind standing; she was too nervous to sit anyway. "It's good to see you haven't lost all sense of military protocol," he commented, tugging on his jacket. "Now, I think I know what this is about, so let me save you some trouble, Captain. I've made my decision regarding your transfer."

Sam stood with her feet slightly apart, hands behind her back, bracing herself for disappointment.

"I realize you've made a tremendous contribution to the project thus far, and it's for that very reason you're being removed."

Sam's brow furrowed in confusion. "General, I don't understand, if you feel I've been an asset. . ."

"Too great an asset, Captain. Your talents are being wasted on a civilian project."

"I understood that it's now a military project, Sir," Sam said, the tone of her voice bordering on insubordination.

"Yes, Captain, it is. One I'm in charge of. Catherine is not being excluded, nor are doctors Meyers or Shore."

"With all due respect, Sir, then why me? Why am I being replaced? Or rather simply removed? I've seen Colonel O'Neill's file, Sir and he has no scientific background whatsoever."

"The reason O'Neill's been assigned is none of your concern. You would do well to remember your place in the Air Force, Captain."

Sam didn't need further explanation-take your orders and don't question them. "General, I can see no greater task than to get the ring to function-whatever that function may be. You say my 'talents' are being wasted, but this is bigger than anything I was working on, or could be working on."

"If you go to Washington, you'll still be working on it, but you'll have time for other endeavors as well."

"But, Sir," Sam continued to press, "I'll be informed after the fact. How can I input anything of value when I'm half a country away?"

"Captain Carter, let me be blunt. You were not my first choice for this assignment. In fact, I don't agree with Catherine that this project needs representation in Washington. However, since she still seems to have quite a bit of clout with the big boys, I've agreed to her _*suggestion*_ you be allowed to be her liaison."

"But, Sir. . ."

"The matter has been decided, Captain. Your transfer will be effective at the end of this week. Until that time you'll be granted access to the lower levels only to gather your things. You are not to conduct any further experiments. Is that clear?"

There was a tense silence as Sam took in the information. Her hands behind her back were clenched into such tight fists, she thought for sure her nails were drawing blood.

"I said is that clear, Captain?"

"Yes, Sir! Crystal, Sir!"

"Then you're dismissed. You'll receive your transfer papers by the end of the week."

Sam couldn't face her colleagues at the moment so she did something she'd never done in her life-went home early. Sheila was still at work, and if the truth be told, Sam was glad. She didn't think she was up to talking about this to anyone right now. Of course, she was going to have to tell Jonas, but he wouldn't be back from his latest drills until tomorrow night, which gave her time to formulate a plan to tell him.

How on Earth was she going to tell him now that he'd transferred to Peterson to be with her, she was moving to Washington? And it wasn't just the move, it was the reason for the move. He would argue she should just get off the project she was working on and go back to deep space radar telemetry, so she could have some normal hours.

But wasn't her job just as important as his? He expected her to be understanding when he was called away at the last minute. Shouldn't she be able to expect the same latitude? Technically she _*should,*_ but she knew how Jonas was going to react. Isn't that why she was dreading having to tell him?

Sam couldn't believe how nervous she was. She never used to be this timid when it came to Jonas! It was just that he seemed to have changed so much lately. He'd always had a sharp, sarcastic side to him, but it was different now. Everything had to be as he decreed or there was a fight, and he'd declare it was her fault it had come to that. And talk of her transfer would be the mother of all fights.

What she wouldn't give to have the "old" Jonas back. The one that would commiserate with her and tell her no matter what she decided he'd always be there for her. But that man seemed to have slowly disappeared. Sam couldn't name a particular mission that had turned the tide. It was like each time he went out, he left a bit of his soul behind. Whittling away at his core so there was no love or compassion left. Special Ops got the best of him and she was left to pick up pieces.

Sam looked up from the sofa at the sound of her door being opened.

"Hey!" Sheila said brightly. "You're home early!"

"Yeah, slight change of plans," she said, smiling at the irony of her statement.

"Well, I'm glad you're here, you can help me celebrate."

"Celebrate?"

"Take a look what came in my lunch today!" Sheila held out her left hand, displaying a gold ring with a modest diamond.

"Oh, my, God, Sheila!" Sam cried, scrambling to her feet. "Darnel?"

"No, the guy who slapped lunch on my plate," Sheila, said, planting her right hand on her hip. "Of course Darnel!"

"But you told me he wasn't into anything 'long term,'" Sam said.

"Well, that's what he always said, but then he said he's already been seeing me 'long term,' so he figured it would only be better if it was forever."

Sam felt a lump forming in her throat. "Oh, Sheila, that's so sweet! I never would have pegged Darnel for the sentiment, though!" she teased.

"You're not the only one!" Sitting down on the couch, pulling Sam with her, Sheila continued. "It was so weird. I mean, here I was in the commissary, eating the usual crap food when this lieutenant comes up to me and said some guy gave him this fortune cookie for me. Well, naturally, I was curious. I'm looking around to see if anyone's watching me, but no one seemed to be paying any attention. So, I cracked open the cookie and inside was this ring with a strip of paper wrapped around the band that said, 'Confucius say: Sheila Mason be most happy if she marry Darnel Johnson.' I think I must have squealed or something because all of a sudden everyone's staring at me, and from around a corner, here comes Darnel with the most apprehensive expression on his face. Like I was going to say no!"

Sam pulled Sheila into a hug. "I'm _*so*_ happy for you! For both of you! I have to admit, I'm kind of surprised it took him this long to ask you! It's obvious how much he loves you!"

Sheila looked doubtful. "Really? I mean I know how I feel about him, but I didn't think he felt the same."

"Trust me, Sheila, the guy's got it bad. I maybe can't see a way to keep my own relationship from crashing and burning, but I can tell when someone's in love."

Sheila's enthusiasm seemed to evaporate. "Sam, I'm sorry, I should have realized. . . ."

"Hey, just because Jonas and I are having some problems doesn't mean I can't be happy for you! In fact, it gives me some faith we'll work things out. Now, I want details."

"That's it. No more details. I didn't even get the chance to really talk to him as we both had to get back to work! Do you have any idea how hard it is to concentrate on something as boring as an advancing cold front when you've just been proposed to? I've been a nut case all afternoon! Darnel's coming over tonight and we're going to talk more."

Standing again, Sam said, "well, I better clear out then. You're going to want some privacy. I'll go over to Jonas'. He's not expected back until tomorrow, and Steve's gone as well."

Sheila bit her lip. "I don't mean to kick you out. . . ."

"You're not kicking me out. You guys need some time alone. There's dozens of places on this base that I can go. Besides, I keep meaning to get to Denver. As long as I'm home early, maybe I'll do that."

"That reminds me. What _*are*_ you doing home so early? I don't think I've seen you before 1900 since I've known you!"

"I got a little surprise of my own today," Sam said. "But I'll tell you later, I don't want to rain on your parade."

"Come on, Sam, I don't think anything could bring me down! Now let's have it."

Sam looked around the room, blinking back the tears that had been threatening since that morning. "I'm being cut from the project I've been working on," she said, toying with the keys she'd fished from her pocket.

Sheila was now on her feet. "Sam! I'm so sorry! I know you can't tell me what you've been doing, but I know how important it is to you! I can't believe they'd let someone as brilliant as you go!"

Sam shuffled her feet, averting her eyes from her friend. "I guess technically I'm just making a lateral move." Looking back at Sheila, she said, "I'm being transferred to Washington. The Pentagon."

"Wow," Sheila said, eyes wide. "You call that a 'lateral move?' Sounds like pretty big stuff to me!"

"Oh, sure, on paper it's going to look damn impressive. I just can't shake the feeling there's more to this than General West has told me. This isn't a promotion. He's placating me. It's also the only way I can stay connected to the project on some level, so I guess I should be grateful for that anyway."

"It's that important to you? After all, Jonas is going to go ballistic when he hears."

"Yeah, it's that important to me," she sighed. "And you don't have to tell me about Jonas. In a way, I can't blame him. After all, he worked really hard to get transferred here so we could be together, and now I'm taking a position that's going to separate us again."

"Is that so bad?" Sheila asked gently. "I don't mean to be giving you any advice, but if you want an opinion of a friend, you haven't been all that happy since he's been here."

"It's just that he's under so much pressure," Sam rationalized. He's got some leave coming up. Maybe we could go away somewhere, get back whatever it is that we've seemed to have lost."

"Sam, do you really think a vacation is going to cure your problems?"

"Maybe not, but it might be a step in the right direction. At the very least it should tell us if we're capable of being in each other's company for a length of time without killing each other!"

Sheila smiled. "What's your record? A weekend? I guess a couple of weeks would be the true test!" Suddenly sober, she added. "You know, you're going to have to save some of your leave for the wedding. After all, if you're going to be my maid of honor, you'll have to be there."

"Are you asking me to. . . ."

"Well, I figure if I have to get stuck in some ugly dress for your wedding, you could do the same for me!"

Giving Sheila a sardonic smile, Sam said, "at the rate we're going, I don't think you're going to have to worry about a tacky dress."

This time it was Sheila giving Sam a hug. "Don't give up just yet. Jonas may surprise you. You said he always keeps you off-balance. Maybe he'll actually be happy for you."

Sam managed to give Sheila a genuine smile. "So, that cold front you saw today tell you Hell was going to freeze over?"

Sam smoothed down the material of her dress as she stood back to take a look at her handiwork. *Not bad,* she thought, viewing the romantic setting before her. The table in Jonas' quarters was set with the only matching dishes she could find between herself and Sheila, two wine glasses and a single candle. It was no four-star restaurant, but Sam hoped Jonas would appreciate the effort she'd gone to. The dress itself was probably clue enough she was intent on setting a mood. Not that she didn't wear dresses from time to time, but she knew Jonas could probably count on one hand the number of times he'd seen her in one.

At first she was a little apprehensive letting herself into his home, but he always seemed to want her around when he was on base, so he shouldn't mind. Trying to sit, Sam didn't last more than a few seconds before she was up, straightening a slightly askew fork on the table.

Sam was wringing her hands and pacing, checking the clock with every pass she made near the kitchen. She really had no time she was expecting Jonas and that made waiting all the worse. She checked her seldom-worn make-up, fluffed her hair, more times than she could keep track of. Finally, when she thought she would go mad, she heard a key in the door.

Quickly lighting the candle, Sam stood before the table, waiting for Jonas to enter. Her excitement abruptly changed to disappointment as she saw Steve enter the living room.

"Oh, Steve, hi!" she said brightly, moving a little, as if her slight body could block the sight of the table set for dinner.

"Sorry to disappoint you, Sam. I'll be out of your hair in a minute. Just forgot to pick up a clean uniform."

"Hey, it's your house, I'm the one who should be apologizing," she said, turning to blow out the candle.

"Sure, I go away for a few exercises and I find my fiancand my room mate planning to run away." Sam jumped at the sound of Jonas' voice, unsure if he were joking or not. Turning to face him, she was relieved to see a cocky grin on his face as Jonas deposited his duffel bag on the floor. "Come here, you."

Stepping into Jonas' open arms, she asked, "how'd everything go?"

"All right, I guess. No 'casualties' this time."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said, hugging him back.

Jonas pulled back and gave her a warm kiss. "You know, a guy could get used to this," he grinned. Sam felt herself relax a bit at his jovial mood. She was never sure what his attitude was going to be when he returned from a mission or drills. Apparently things had gone really well this time.

"Not that I'm complaining, but to what do I owe the honor of your lovely presence?"

Clearing her throat, Sam tried to sound nonchalant. "Oh, no reason, I just missed you."

Jonas moved away from her, removing his jacket, eyeing the table. "Something must be up, I don't usually come home to a romantic meal, FOR TWO!" he shouted in the direction of Steve's room.

"Hey, I'm gone!" Steve called, duffel bag in one hand and dress uniform in the other. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do!" he called as he made his way to the door.

"I guess I have nothing to worry about, as there _*is*_ nothing you wouldn't do," Jonas joked back.

"Buddy? Wanna get the door? Sooner I'm outta here the sooner you can. . .eat," Steve added suggestively, causing Sam to turn away in embarrassment. She knew she should be used to Steve by now, but he still managed to make her feel self-conscious. She heard the door close, then felt Jonas' arms slide around her waist.

"Now, where were we?" he asked, kissing her ear. "You know, you clean up real good, Generalette."

"Maybe you'd like to do the same?" she insinuated.

"Okay," Jonas sighed, releasing her. "I can take a hint." He kissed her one last time and smiled. "Hold that thought."

Sam watched Jonas head for his room before turning back to the kitchen. Maybe she had everything all wrong. Okay, so he'd been acting cold recently. Maybe he realized how strained things were becoming between them, and he was trying to make up for it. Maybe he wouldn't take the news of her transfer so badly. Sure, he was bound to be disappointed, but with the mood he was in now, he was almost the man she'd fallen in love with over two years ago. Maybe they'd find some way to make the best of this.

Relaxing a bit, Sam found she was actually starting to feel hungry. She'd made lasagna, and a salad. Not exactly a culinary stretch, but it was something she could make that didn't require a lot of timing. She was placing some garlic bread into the oven as Jonas entered the kitchen, spinning her around. Dipping her low, he planted a sensuous kiss on her lips. He tasted of toothpaste, and the clean scent of soap clung to his damp skin. It seemed so long since he was romantic, Sam felt herself melting.

"Something smells great," Jonas said, setting her on her feet once more.

"Lasagna," Sam breathed.

"Oh. I was talking about you," he said, eyes twinkling.

Sam couldn't help a smile from forming. "Jonas, what's gotten into you? I mean we didn't exactly part on the best of terms."

Taking her hands, Jonas looked into her eyes. "I know. I had a lot of time to think about things, to think about us. I don't want to fight with you, Sam. I love you and I think if we both work at it, we can get back to where we were."

Sam launched herself at Jonas, hugging him so hard he had to loosen her arms so he could breathe. "I take it you agree?" he laughed.

"Oh, Jonas! I've been so worried about what's been happening to us! I love you, too. And I'm tired of fighting. We'll talk after dinner, okay? I've got some news of my own as well."

"Oh, so *that's* the reason for _*Chez Samantha,*_" he smiled. "I knew you had an ulterior motive."

"No!" she weakly protested. "I wanted to do something nice for you, is that so hard to believe?"

"Well, let's see. You don't cook, and you've gone to all this trouble to make dinner. Seems like a bombshell to me! So," he said, picking a radish out of the salad, "what's the big news?"

"Really, Jonas, it can wait."

"Come on, Sam! Tell me already!"

Sam's gaze roamed around the room for a moment before it settled on him. "I got sort-of a promotion the other day."

"Hey! That's great! I should be cooking you dinner!"

"Well, there's a catch," she said, biting her lower lip.

Jonas poured each of them some wine and was lifting his glass to his mouth as he asked, "what kind of a catch?"

"It's in Washington," she said.

"D.C.?"

"Um, yeah."

"As in half-way across the God-damned country?" he asked, his voice barely restrained.

"Look, Jonas, I'm sure I'm going to be back here almost as much as if I lived here, and you're always gone on missions anyway and. . ."

"And you just jumped at the chance, didn't you?" he asked, tossing back his entire glass of wine in one gulp.

"I don't have a lot of choice when it comes to getting transferred! The Air Force tells me where to go and when to be there! You of all people should realize that!"

"And what, pray tell, does Washington need with an astrophysicist who studies deep space radar telemetry?"

"They need someone there who can explain what we do at NORAD," Sam said, bending to retrieve dinner from the oven. Jonas slammed the door before she could remove the food.

"This is about that project you've been working on, isn't it? The one you can never talk about! How come they suddenly need someone in Washington, and why you?"

"We've needed someone at the Pentagon for a long time now! And I don't know why me, other than the fact I'm in the Air Force."

Jonas turned away, rubbing a hand across his face. "You're the only Air Force officer they could send? I find that a little hard to believe."

"I've told you this is a combined effort with a civilian team, so yes, in essence, I am the only one they can send!"

"You told me before you couldn't leave this project because they need your scientific input. What makes you so dispensable all of a sudden?"

Sam didn't know how to respond to his question, as it was the same one she had herself. Lowering her voice, she said, "I'm not sure why me either. All I know is this is the only way for me to stay connected to the project." Sam picked up her own glass of wine and took a drink. "Look, can't we just have dinner, and talk about this calmly before it all gets blown out of proportion?"

"Blown out of proportion? I don't think I'm blowing anything out of proportion! Fact: you've been reassigned to Washington. Fact: you haven't done anything to try to stop it. I think that speaks pretty damn loudly about how much you want to work on our relationship!"

Sam's temper was now fully engaged. "You want to talk about taking measures to work on our relationship? How about you and Special Ops? If you're so damn committed to our relationship, why aren't _*you*_ trying to get out? You know you've surpassed the required number of missions! Hell, you could be _*teaching*_ Special Ops training courses instead of taking them! So don't you be putting all the blame on me! You've had the means to get out when ever you wanted to! You say we don't spend enough time together, well who's the one who's gone six months out of the year?"

"And now you want to take the other six months?" Jonas countered.

"You're missing the point, Jonas," Sam said.

"And what is the point? If I got out of Special Ops, would you give up this. . .project of yours?"

Sam was suddenly taken aback. Could she give up her involvement with Project Giza? She was sure if she went to General West, he'd be more than happy to reassign her back to NORAD. But how could she do that? Go back to square one? How could she begin to concentrate on finding black holes when she knew twenty-two levels below her the greatest mystery of the modern world was being worked on?

And if it meant losing Jonas, what then? Would he really make it an ultimatum? By demanding he be the one to make the sacrifice, to change the focus of his career, was she any better than him? Surly there had to be a way to work this out!

"Jonas, we can find a happy medium, here."

"I guess I have my answer," he said quietly. "You expect me to give up my career, but you won't consider trying to transfer to another area here. Sam, you have so many talents, you could just reach into a hat and pull something out. I don't have that option. I can't fly anymore. This is the only shot I've got at making a difference."

"But Jonas," Sam pleaded, "it's so dangerous! Every time you walk out that door I wonder if I'll see you again. So far you've beat the odds, but how long can this go on?"

"You know, you've been on me ever since I decided to join Special Ops. Even when I first met you back in Florida. Is this your way of getting even with me?"

"God, No! Jonas! This isn't about trying to 'one up' you! I know we can make it work if you just give it a chance!"

"Oh, like things are working now? Sam, I practically have to make an appointment to see you. How's that going to get better when we're not even on the same base? Or in the same state, for that matter?"

"You could come with me," Sam offered quietly.

Jonas sighed. "You can't be serious! _*I*_ won't get transferred to the Pentagon, and I'm sure as hell not resigning and going as 'Mr. Samantha Carter!'"

Sam felt the sting of his words as if he'd slapped her. "Is that what you think? That I want you around just as my lap dog?"

Jonas shrugged as he poured the last of the wine into his glass. "I don't know what you're thinking anymore."

Sam stared at him for a long moment. "I don't know what I think either, because I don't know you anymore, Jonas. You've changed."

"Oh, _*I've*_ changed," he shouted, slamming the empty wine glass on the table hard enough to crack it. "I'm not the one who can't see beyond the obsession this project has become to you."

Crossing her arms, Sam's body stood stiff. "And _*you're*_ not obsessed with your job?"

"I prefer to think of it as 'focused,'" he said, moving to the refrigerator. Opening the door, he pulled out a can of beer, popping the top open and downing it in one swallow.

"Focused," she said with a wry chuckle. "Well, that's one way to look at it."

"'Judge not, lest ye be judged,'" he quoted, reaching for another can.

Sam stepped between Jonas and his goal. "Jonas, please, we need to talk about this rationally! We can't do that if you're bent on getting drunk!"

Pushing her aside, he grabbed another beer. "I was under the impression it's been decided. You're going to Washington, I'm not. What's there to discuss?"

Sam buried her face in her hands, totally mystified as to how to proceed. It was obvious he wasn't going to budge, and she couldn't, not unless she wanted to give up Project Giza. But she couldn't. She just couldn't forget the ring. It was if it was a part of her, part of her soul, and she couldn't just abandon it. If it took her last breath, she was going to find out what it was.

Turning to face him, Sam felt numb, almost as if she was watching her body from somewhere near the ceiling. Staring down at her hand, she saw the diamond on her finger. She'd always cherished it. In the years she'd had it, she only removed it out of necessity. It was no longer a promise of love and a life together, but a sentence, a means of binding her to him.

Jonas watched as Sam slowly spun the ring around her finger, loosening it from the place it had settled.

"Sam? What are you doing?"

Sam tugged at the band, pulling it off her finger.

"Don't do this, Sam!" Jonas warned. "You can't!"

"Yes, I can," she said, staring at her naked finger. Transferring her gaze to the ring poised between her thumb and index finger, she slowly lowered her hand to the table, placing the ring on the lacy cloth. Looking back up at his shocked face, Sam felt a single tear trickle down her cheek.

"I can't marry you, Jonas. Not like this. I'm sorry."

"Sam! Come on! We're just having a disagreement! Couples have them all the time!"

"You're right, Jonas. Couples *do* have disagreements. We're not a couple. We haven't been for a long time. I've just been too scared to admit it. I won't roll over and play dead just to keep you happy. I'm sorry," she said again. Reaching for her jacket, the smell of burning garlic bread wafted past her.

"You might want to take the food out of the oven," she said, hand on the door knob. "There's no need to ruin anything else tonight."

Jonas didn't try to stop her, and Sam didn't know if she was relieved or not. Obviously they both needed some space, but it looked like time wasn't going to be able to fix things in this case. She didn't even realize she was crying until it became difficult to see the road.

God, how did things get so messed up? How did making him dinner turn into breaking up with him? It's not like they hadn't had fights-lately that's all they seemed to do-but it was always her backing down, her smoothing his ruffled feathers that got them back on track. She couldn't do it anymore. Not when it was something as important as Catherine's project had become to her. Why couldn't Jonas give a little for once?

She was crying so hard now, she had to pull over before she had an accident. Laying her head on the steering wheel, Sam sobbed for the chance at love she'd lost. All her life all she wanted was someone special to care about her. To care about her more than their next mission, their next transfer or their commitment to the military. Would she ever come first?

Was she really such a bad person? She'd always tried to be mindful of others; didn't that earn her some right to be loved? She was so sure Jonas was the one who would care for her. He was so lost when she'd met him; he knew what it was like to need love. And once she'd shown him that love, didn't he see how she needed it too? So how come he seemed to forget?

Ten minutes later, Sam was cried out. She was still taking deep, hiccuping breaths, wiping swollen eyes, but she felt she could at least make it home now. Home. Where was that, exactly? Did she have a home to go to? When she was younger, home was where her mother was, regardless of what base they were on. When she died, Sam tried to feel some of that with her father, and even Mark, but both were too distant. Too wrapped up in their own misery to notice hers. Sheila was her family now, especially since her fallout with her father.

Suddenly Sam knew she had to see him. Not that he could magically make the pain disappear, but she needed him to tell her things were going to be okay. How long had it been since they'd talked? Almost two years? She'd tried to contact him in the beginning, but when it was apparent Jacob wasn't going to take her calls, Sam stopped trying. Would he still avoid speaking to her? There was only one way to find out. She'd have to go to Eglin and make him talk to her. Who knew? Maybe once he heard she'd broke things off with Jonas he'd at least hear her out.

With a new goal in mind, Sam started the car and headed toward her house. Mentally, she started a checklist of what she'd need to accomplish to go for a day or two. Hopefully General West would grant her a few days leave. Since he was so hot to get O'Neill into the facility, Sam couldn't foresee a problem. It would be worse trying to explain it to Catherine and Sheila. With her mind focused on plans, Sam could almost believe her world wasn't falling apart.

Sitting on a plane headed to Florida, Sam felt herself blinking back tears as she thought of the support Sheila and Catherine had offered her. Sheila wanted her to stay at Peterson so she could take care of her, but understood Sam's need to see Jacob. Catherine too agreed that perhaps she could use some time away. It wouldn't be long, however, since she was expected to be in Washington by the end of the week.

Catherine tried to apologize once again for Sam having been replaced. Perhaps if this latest twist hadn't come up, Sam and Jonas would have been able to work things out. Sam assured her it wasn't the job-it was just the excuse. If it hadn't been her reposting, it would have been something else. And she truly believed it. Of course, that didn't make it any easier to take.

What the hell was she going to say to her father? Hi, Dad, long time to see? Staring out the window, Sam began to doubt the sanity of hopping on a plane at midnight and taking off with no real plan. She usually wasn't this impulsive, but if the Air Force had taught her one thing, it was sometimes you didn't get a second chance. You had to move on the moment.

She tried to pretend her father's opinion didn't matter to her, but this time apart only proved how much his belief in her _*did*_ count. She'd missed his counsel and his approval. If she had to camp out on his doorstep he *would* see her and they'd settle this once and for all.

It was very early in the morning when the plane landed. Sam managed to catch a few minutes sleep, but no real rest. She had to look like hell, because she certainly felt like it. Not the best way to show up after such a long absence, but, she reasoned, maybe it would make her father a little more sympathetic.

Catching a cab to the base, Sam had the driver let her off near the officer's quarters, close to the house Jonas had while at Eglin. She wasn't sure why she wanted to visit "the scene of the crime," but for some twisted reason, she had to see the house again. There was still a scar on the telephone pole Jonas had wrapped his car around the night they met. Things in the neighborhood hadn't changed. It could easily have been three years earlier. Three years. How could it have gone so fast? Work had a lot to do with it, but mostly it was because she'd been happy. At least at first. Those first few months Jonas had been at Peterson were some of the best she could remember. Sighing, Sam followed the route she and Jonas used to take to the beach. As the sun climbed higher, Sam found herself immersed in memories so bittersweet, she felt tears coming to her eyes once more.

"This is sick, Sam," she said aloud, turning away from the beach to the road that would take her to her father's. She was stalling and she knew it. "You've come all this way to talk to him. Don't chicken out now."

Taking a deep breath, Sam picked up her pace, walking straight to her father's house without any more detours. Standing before his door, Sam willed the knot in her stomach to loosen. She was about to knock when the door opened, revealing her father, dressed in a robe, no doubt going for his morning paper.

For a few uncomfortable moments they just stared at each other, both too shocked to speak. Finally, Sam found her voice.

"Hi, Dad."

"Sam? What are you doing here?" Jacob was breathless as he stared at his daughter.

"I, uh, I needed to talk to you, but since you won't take my calls. . . . Can I come in?"

Jacob blinked, still shaken from her sudden appearance. "Sure, sure. Come in," he said, retrieving his paper.

Once in the foyer they continued to stare at each other, unsure of what to say.

Jacob eventually broke the silence. "Sam, what's wrong?"

His words were her undoing. She'd been so sure he'd throw her out on sight, she didn't expect the rush of emotion she felt when there was actual concern in his voice.

"Sam?" he asked again, taking a step closer, enveloping her in a hug.

"Oh, Dad," she cried, hanging onto him for dear life. "I thought you'd never speak to me again!"

Jacob pulled back, brushing the hair from her face. "Now why would you think that?"

"Well," Sam sniffed, doing her best to wipe her eyes, "you wouldn't take my calls, and then I never heard from you. I thought you were still mad at me."

Jacob sighed, leading her into the living room. Sitting on the sofa, he pulled her down next to him. "Sam, I was never mad at you, just disappointed. You've worked so hard to get where you are, I didn't want to see you throw it all away on a guy like Jonas. I got over it, but by the time I did, it'd been so long since we talked, I didn't know how to bridge the gap. I'm sorry for being so stubborn."

"Guess it runs in the family," Sam smiled weakly, accepting a Kleenex from her father. "I should have tried harder too, Dad. But I was so mad you wouldn't give Jonas a chance, I couldn't bring myself to simply ignore it. Turns out you were right, though."

"What do you mean?"

"About Jonas," she said, looking down at the Kleenex she was twisting in her fingers, "We broke up last night. I gave him back his ring and told him I couldn't marry him."

"What happened?"

Sam shrugged her shoulders. "It wasn't any one thing. He'd become increasing possessive, and jealous of my work. He could be gone for weeks at a time on some Black Ops mission, but I couldn't come home late. I couldn't talk about what I was doing and he resented that, and yet I was supposed to accept the fact he couldn't talk about his missions. I never even knew what country he was in most of the time! At least he knew where I was! And I was still in the United States! He never wanted to go out, see anyone. He always said he didn't get to spend enough time with me, but I was with him every free minute. Sometimes I would even pretend to be working just so I could have some time to myself. Kind of ironic when all I had was time to myself when he was gone.

"I guess I really realized something was wrong when I started dreading his homecomings. Wondering what kind of a mood he was going to be in, if he was going to be romantic, or start accusing me of being unfaithful. I had to laugh at that one! I mean one minute he's telling me I'm working too hard and don't have enough time for him, and yet he thought I had time for an affair? He never was violent with me, but there was something about him that started to scare me. I guess I could see a side to him that if pushed hard enough, he could lose control. I was having enough trouble living with him as his fianc I knew if I married him things wouldn't get any better. Last night I went to his house to try one last time, but when I told him about my transfer, he just became totally unreasonable. I knew if he couldn't bend a little on something as basic as the Air Force, we didn't stand a chance. That's why I gave him back his ring."

"Oh, Sammie, I'm sorry." Jacob said, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. "Look, just because I didn't like the guy doesn't mean I wanted it to come to this."

"I know," she said, not even minding the childish use of her name. Her head rested on his shoulder, and as long as he was content to hold her, she was in no hurry to move. "Dad? In the beginning, you *were* wrong about him," she ventured. Sam felt him stiffen and move away. "Something changed him. It was his assignments with Special Ops. I know he loved me, Dad, and I think in his own way, he still does."

Jacob cleared his throat. "So, what changed if he was so 'ideal?'"

Sam didn't miss the sarcasm in his voice. "I never said he was ideal," she smiled. "You were right about him having problems. I knew that going in, and I truly thought he was getting better. He was seeing Dr. Fredricks, and it _*was*_ helping. I guess when he got to Peterson he didn't think he needed therapy anymore."

"Either that or he thought he had you hooked so there was no reason to waste his time with psychology. He never struck me as someone who believed in it."

Looking back, Sam could see that now. She'd wanted so much to believe he was getting better, that _*she*_ was helping him, she'd blinded herself to the truth. "I know I glossed over a lot of his behavior," she admitted. "But we were happy, Dad. When times were good, they were the best."

"How did he take it?" Jacob asked gently. "Giving him back the ring, I mean."

Sam looked around her father's sparse living room before turning her eyes back to him. "Better than I thought, actually. Of course I didn't stick around long enough to find out if he _*did*_ try anything. I left his place right after, and it couldn't have been more than an hour before I was on a plane coming here. I just hope Sheila hasn't had to take the fall-out from this."

"That's your room mate, right?"

"Yeah, you met her the day. . .when you were at Peterson."

"Nice girl," Jacob remembered.

"Real nice. She's been a lifesaver, actually. Gotten me though some pretty tough times," Sam said, lowering her eyes once more.

"I don't suppose I would have been one of those tough times?" Jacob asked, pulling Sam's chin around to face him.

Blinking back tears, Sam whispered, "yeah, you were. Dad, I was so hurt you wouldn't trust me to make the right decision. It still hurts you don't trust me."

"I never said I didn't trust you, Sam. I guess it was more as an outsider, I could see things more objectively than you. I admit, I only had your word for how Jonas felt and was treating you. Maybe if I'd seen the two of you together I would have changed my opinion. But seeing how things ended up, maybe not. I hate that he's hurt you like this." Jacob pulled her head back to his shoulder once more.

"He's not the only one who hurt me," Sam quietly pointed out.

There was a silence then Jacob sighed. "I know, Sammie. Chalk it up to your old man being a crusty old soldier. I'm not exactly in touch with my 'feminine side.'"

Sam had to laugh at that. Even that her father would use the phrase was ridiculous. "Dad, have you been watching the afternoon talk shows again?"

Jacob chuckled, squeezing her shoulders. "Think that would help? Seriously, Kid, I'm sorry if I hurt you. You have to know I didn't mean it."

"Yeah, Dad, I know. It was the only thing that got me on that plane," she confessed.

"I'm glad you came."

"Me, too."

"So, you mentioned some transfer. What's that all about? Last I heard you were doing something with radar at NORAD?"

So much had happened since she'd talked to him! Sam wasn't sure what of Project Giza she could mention, so she tried to be as vague as possible. "Well, for the past two years I've been working on a classified project at NORAD, but now they need a liaison in Washington, so I've been transferred to the Pentagon."

"The Pentagon? Sammie, I can't believe it! Hey, how'd my kid make it there before me?" he asked, his smile full of pride.

"Just lucky, I guess," Sam grinned.

"More like you were the one smart enough to catch their eye," Jacob said.

"Well, I wish I could have caught NASA's eye, but this is a good opportunity as well," Sam finally agreed.

"This appointment is nothing to sneeze at, Sam, but I'm sure you know that."

"Yeah, Dad, I do."

"So, can you tell me anything about this project you've been working on?"

Sam's eyebrows scrunched up. "I'm sorry, but I really can't. You know if I could. . . "

"I know. So, this is the transfer you were talking about, the one that sent Jonas over the edge?"

"Dad, you make him sound like a psychopath!"

"Well. . . ."

"He just needs to realize the world doesn't revolve around him," she said sadly.

"At least _*you*_ realized the world didn't revolve around him," Jacob added.

They sat for a few minutes, each silent, neither wanting to disrupt the fragile truce they'd just formed.

Finally, Jacob released her shoulders. "I'm sorry, Kid, but I've got to get ready to go in; I've got a busy day ahead. _*Some*_ of us can't just jump on a plane in the middle of the night to satisfy some whim." There was a twinkle in his eye and Sam found herself grinning at her father's teasing. "Any chance you can stick around for lunch?"

"I think I can manage that," she smiled. "But let me make it, okay?"

"We could just catch something over at the. . ."

"Please, Dad? I really want to do this."

Jacob smiled. "Okay, Sammie. Plan on around 12:30?"

"That would be great, on one condition."

Picking up his newspaper, Jacob turned to her. "Oh, what's that?"

"You stop calling me 'Sammie!'"

Returning to Peterson, Sam's heart felt lighter in one respect, but heavier in another. She'd successfully settled things with her father, but the thought of Jonas less than a mile from her house left her feeling decidedly *un*-settled.

Sheila said he'd called once, but when he found out Sam had gone to see her father, Jonas hadn't tried again. She assured Sam she'd made the correct decision, and her support helped, but Sam couldn't help wondering if she'd made the right call. Sam ached for what she'd lost, and although she'd never tell Sheila, seeing her so happy with Darnel only served to make her feel worse.

She needed to clear out her things at Cheyenne Mountain, and Sam wasn't looking forward to the good-byes. Catherine was going to be the hardest to leave, and she was surprised by that thought. Thinking back to the day she'd met her, Sam smiled. She really did think her eccentric. A woman who somehow managed the impossible: having something powerful enough to keep General West in line was no small feat.

How far they'd come in the last two years, and now, for her, it was over except as a token representative in Washington. Well, if nothing else she could still call Catherine and read the reports.

For the last time, Sam signed the admittance sheet on level 11, her hand shaking. She realized unless she was called back for some reason, this would be her last journey downward.

Once on level 28, she nodded to co-workers who'd no doubt heard about the "shake up" with the military personnel. Their sympathetic looks said it all. Entering the lab, Sam smiled when she saw Gary, Barbara and Catherine, all engaged in conversation as if nothing had changed, making Sam's stomach hurt as she thought of now being an outsider to this group.

"Sam!" Gary cried, rising from his seat to give her a hug.

"It's not like it's been forever, Gary," she tried to smile as she hugged him back. "It's only been a couple of days!"

"I know, but, well, you know," he mumbled.

Barbara blew a stream of smoke into the air. "Good to see you again, Kiddo."

"You too, " Sam said, managing a slightly wider smile. Her gaze fell on Catherine, who looked as uncomfortable as she felt. "So, how was Houston?"

"We were just discussing that," Catherine said, motioning Sam to her old desk.

"I, uh I don't know if I should. General West was very specific. He said I was allowed to gather my things and that was all."

"And so you are. We're just having a conversation while you're doing it," she said, giving Sam a mischievous smile. "Now, where was I? Oh yes. Dr. Jackson." Catherine paused, rising to fill her coffee mug. "He certainly has some unorthodox theories."

"Didn't I tell you it was a wasted trip?" Gary said, retaking his seat. "I think most of people who show up at his lectures do so just to see what ludicrous statements he'll make next."

"I didn't say it was a wasted trip. Unfortunately I didn't get to hear his entire speech."

"What happened?" Sam asked.

"Well, most of the room's occupants didn't stay to hear what he had to say."

"So, it was a dead end then?" Barbara asked.

"No, I invited him to work on the project."

"What?" Gary cried, coming to his feet. "Catherine, you just told me he got laughed out of the room and you want him to do your translation?"

"He hasn't accepted. I only offered him the opportunity. And as I said before, he's not replacing you, merely lending us another perspective. That is if he doesn't turn me down."

"Considering his choices, I don't think you have to worry; I know he's been having trouble getting financial backing."

Catherine crossed her arms over her chest. "And how do you know this?"

"The archeological community is pretty small," Gary shrugged. "I'm surprised you haven't heard something about this yourself."

"Well, I *have* been out of the loop for some time," she admitted with a smile. "At any rate, I too am fairly confident he'll take me up on my proposal."

"So, tell me again what makes this guy so special?" Sam asked.

"He's a skilled linguist, speaking 23 languages, written several papers on the origins of the written Egyptian language. . ."

"Which are heretical at best. . . ." Gary interrupted.

"And he has dual doctorates in archeology and linguistics, being all of twenty-five years old."

"That _*is*_ impressive," Sam agreed. "Too bad I'm not going to get a chance to meet this _*Wunderkind.*_"

"I'm hoping someday you will," Catherine smiled.

"Catherine," Gary said, "if you think this guy's so great, how come you haven't tried to recruit him before this?"

Toying with the gold necklace she always wore, Catherine's lips turned up into a wry smile. "As you've stated, his work is heretical at best."

"We're really that desperate?" Barbara questioned, reaching for her cigarettes.

Catherine gave her a sad smile. "Yes, we are. I don't know that Jackson is the answer, but I had to try something. Time is running out."

Everyone fell silent, knowing how keenly Catherine was feeling the deadline.

"You know, I'm going to see if I can find something I missed," Gary said, standing and nodding at Barbara.

"I'll join you. Two heads are better than one."

Catherine smiled at their obvious exit. "I guess they knew I wished to speak with you alone."

"Is something wrong?" Sam asked.

"Nothing more than usual," Catherine said. "There's just a few things I'd like to go over with you before you head to Washington."

Sam stopped removing items from her desk, giving Catherine her undivided attention. "I take it you have a 'request' that's not part of General West's orders?"

"Sam, you more than anyone know what's at stake here. I won't ask you to go against anything you've sworn to uphold being in the Air Force, but I also don't want you to let any 'opportunities' slip by."

"I'm not sure I know what you're asking."

"I can't let this project get shut down. _*WE*_ can't let this project get shut down. I know this means as much to you as it does to me."

"You're right, it does," Sam said, her gaze dropping to her former desk. She stoked the scared surface, willing her emotions to stay in check. Looking back up she said. "I don't know what I can do if they decide to shut it down."

"Find out all you can about who's got the final say, get on their good side, gain their confidence. Do whatever it takes to keep this project alive."

The passion in Catherine's voice more than convinced Sam. "You know I'll do whatever I can."

Catherine smiled at Sam, patting her hand. "I know you will. That's why I practically blackmailed West into assigning you."

Sam's curiosity was piqued. "Just what do you have on him anyway? I've never seen General West back down from anyone."

An enigmatic grin turned up the corners of Catherine's mouth. "Let's just say I have some information he'd rather not have public."

"So then why did you agree to O'Neill?"

"He was determined to replace you, although I still don't know why. I know he wasn't dissatisfied with your work. Plus, if my giving in got you into the Pentagon, at least I had a side-ways victory."

"I just wish I knew why he wants me away from here," she said, shaking her head. "So, have you met this O'Neill?"

Catherine chuckled. "Yes, I have. Not the most personable man I've ever met."

"Really? What do you mean?"

"It's more a feeling, I guess. He's short with most of the scientists. I think the only reason he speaks to me is I'm still the token leader of this project. There's something about his eyes. You know how expressive a person's eyes can be?" Sam nodded. "His are dead. There's no life in them. I don't know if it's the military that's done that too him or something else, but there's no compassion there. It's almost as if he's an organic robot."

Sam knew that look. She'd seen it on Jonas' face when he'd come home from his missions. Only lately, it seemed like it took longer and longer for the life to come back into his eyes.

"I don't think I've ever seen the man smile. Not even a grin or a twitch. Everything is about the safety of the facility. He's got everyone so worked up, you'd think the Cold War had started up again."

"Maybe I'm not so sorry to be heading to Washington," Sam quipped.

"Well, you _*are*_ Air Force, so you'd probably rate slightly higher than just your average scientist," Catherine said. She was silent for a moment, the quietly added, "I'm going to miss you, Sam. Not only for the strides you've made on the project, but personally. It truly has been a pleasure working with you these past few years."

Sam felt her eyes welling up as she stood and embraced Catherine. "I'm going to miss you, too. We made a good team. All of us." A stray tear escaped which she quickly wiped away.

"You're not out of this yet," Catherine promised, releasing her. "I won't stop trying to get you reassigned here."

"And I won't let you down in Washington, either."

The rest of Sam's good-byes were just as difficult. She was surprised to find how close she'd become to the staff working on level 28. They'd planned a small gathering to bid her farewell, but it was short lived once word reached them Colonel O'Neill was on his way down. In the interest of keeping everyone out of trouble, Sam quickly packed up her things and headed toward the elevators. As the doors opened, Sam saw a lanky man in his dress uniform staring at the floor. Looking up, he looked in her direction, but didn't really see her.

"Sir!" she said, coming to attention, touching rigid fingers to her brow.

"Captain," he acknowledged, as he brushed past her.

Sam watched him proceed down the hallway. _*Yeah,*_ she thought, _*Maybe Washington isn't going to be so bad after all.*_

Sam became lost only once in her effort to find the Office of Scientific Research and Development in the Pentagon. Staring at her map, she discovered she'd turned left at a corridor rather than right. Retracing her steps, she found the outer door with just enough time to spare.

Entering the office, Sam was greeted by an Air Force lieutenant, whose bright smile caused her to relax a bit.

The woman stood and gave her a short salute. "Captain Carter?"

"Yes," she replied, returning the gesture. It certainly felt odd to be the senior officer for a change.

"We've been expecting you. The Colonel should be here momentarily, if you'll have a seat, Ma'am?"

Sam smiled and thanked her, nervously perching on the edge of a wooden chair. Smoothing down the skirt of her dress uniform, Sam reached for her new briefcase, checking to make sure she had everything she'd need to help Catherine continue her fight for Project Giza.

The briefcase had been a gift from her father, arriving only with the message: Can't work at the Pentagon without a proper briefcase. Best of luck, Dad. Sam didn't know what she found more endearing, the gift itself or the fact he'd signed the card "Dad." Even on her graduation card he'd signed his name rather than any reference to being her father.

Looking up, Sam studied the woman behind the desk. Lieutenant Johnson was tall-nearly as tall as her-with dark red hair neatly wound on the back of her head. Her features were plain, but Sam suspected when she wore her hair in a less severe style, she would be considered attractive. Just then, the outer door opened, revealing a rather short man, with graying black hair and glasses. He was balancing two Styrofoam cups stacked on one another in his right hand and a satchel in the left.

Noticing Sam, he said, "looks like I should have got more coffee."

Lieutenant Johnson rushed to her feet, taking the cups from their precarious position in the man's hands. "This is Captain Carter, Sir."

"Ah! Carter! Good! I was expecting you yesterday," he said, looking her up and down as Sam came to attention, saluting.

"I'm sorry, Sir, but there was a problem getting a flight out of Colorado Springs. The weather closed the airport."

"Yes, I believe I heard something about that," he mumbled as he bent over the lieutenant's desk, trying to look at the calendar. "Marla? I think I'm going to need you to cancel my 1000 appointment. Reschedule it whenever it's convenient for Major Weiks."

"Yes, Sir."

"So, Carter. I'm Colonel Sanders," he said, extending his hand.

Sam bit her lip in an effort to keep a straight face. "Pleased to meet you, Sir," she said, shaking his hand.

"Okay, let's nip this in the bud. Yes, much to my chagrin, my name really _*is*_ Colonel Sanders, but I'm not heir to a chicken empire, or any other empire for that matter. That being said, I look forward to our association."

"Thank you, Sir. So do I."

Sander's gave Marla a big smile, shaking his head. "I wish you'd warn them about the name before I meet them. It would save me so many speeches."

"But, Sir, you'd deprive me watching their reactions when you introduce yourself!"

"I guess you have to get your kicks somewhere, don't you?"

Sam watched the easygoing exchange with interest. She'd been so sure this assignment was going to be "by-the-book," she'd braced herself for endless hours of protocol. Hearing the casual words between the two officers relived some of Sam's fears. Things were beginning to look a little brighter.

"Carter!"

"Sir!" Sam said snapping to attention once more.

Sanders jerked his head in Sam's direction. "You see that, Johnson? That's how an officer is supposed to treat a superior. Keep that in mind." Both parties smiled at each other, making Sam feel a bit awkward listening in on their banter.

"Your office will be over there," Sander's said, motioning to the door on the right. "Where's her name plate?" he asked, turning back to Marla.

"It should be here today, Sir."

"Good. The woman works in the Pentagon for Christ's sake! She needs a name plate on the door!"

Sam couldn't help but smile. She had a feeling she was going to like her new C.O.

"Follow me," he said, picking up his cup of coffee from Marla's desk. They entered his office and Sanders nodded to her. "Get the door. Sorry I don't have any coffee to offer you. Damn pot broke and I guess I wasn't thinking about you arriving today."

"That's quite all right, Sir," Sam said looking around his office, wondering why he was picking up coffee for _*his*_ secretary. Besides the requisite framed degrees and commendations, there was an inordinate amount of Kentucky Fried Chicken memorabilia spread throughout the room. Noting Sam's gaze, Sanders motioned her to a seat as he explained.

"I know this looks odd given the speech I gave you in the outer office," he smiled, taking a seat at his desk. Sighing, he gave her the full story. "From the time I've been in the service my nick name's been Chicken Man. Go figure."

Sam looked down to hide her smile as she waited for the colonel to continue.

"Well, it started out as a joke, but my friends started giving me anything they could find with a KFC logo on it, and I didn't have the heart to throw it away. Of course once I made colonel, they *really* started in on me. The day I made rank, my buddies got me drunk, dragged me into every Kentucky Fried Chicken, in the state, loudly proclaiming I was the "real" Colonel Sanders. Of course then I had to pull my ID out and prove my name was indeed 'Colonel Sanders,'" he said, shaking his head at the memory. "But at least we got some free food out of it."

Sam couldn't hold her grin back any longer. "That's quite a story, Sir. I don't think I have anything to top it."

"I would hope not!" he smiled. "All right. I suppose we should get down to business. The government doesn't pay us to have a good time, now does it?"

"No, Sir!"

"You got a first name, Carter?"

"Yes, Sir. It's Samantha, Sir, only I generally go by Sam."

"Sam it is then. And I have a name as well. It's Roy. And when we're in this office it's not 'sir' or 'colonel' is that understood?"

"Um, yes, Si. . .Roy." Sam squirmed in her seat. "I'm sorry, Sir, I don't know that I can call you by your name."

"Yeah, those damn regulations, I know. Look, just try, okay? Of course you realize this informality is reserved for this office only."

"That goes without saying. . .Roy."

"See, now that wasn't so hard, was it?" he smiled. Adjusting his glasses, he opened a file lying on his desk. "Let's see. Captain Samantha Carter, decorated and made captain at the age of 26 after heroic efforts in Desert Storm." he stopped reading and looked up at her. "You know, that's what they call the pastry table in the dinning hall-Dessert Storm."

Sam did her best to keep a straight face at his bad pun, but she found her mouth defiantly curling upwards. Sanders, too tried to hide his smirk as he coughed lightly and continued reading.

"Ph.D. in quantum mechanics, theoretical astrophysicist, assigned to NORAD working on deep space radar telemetry for a year before being transferred to Project Giza." He looked at Sam over the rim of his glasses before he returned to her file. "Two years on said project where you made significant discoveries in how the device operated." Looking up again, he asked, "I take it the ring is not fully functional?"

"No, but I felt we were getting really close. We're still not even sure what it _*does*_ providing it becomes operational. However, I believe General West thinks it to be threatening in nature."

"Oh? Why do you say that."

"Well, in the past few weeks he's stepped up security, and convinced someone here in Washington that Project Giza is too sensitive an undertaking to remain a civilian endeavor."

"That request didn't come through this office, and I should have been the first to know," Sanders said, jotting down a note. Taking off his glasses and tossing them on his desk, Roy stared at Sam. "Captain, why are you here?"

The use of her rank automatically made her answer in kind. "Colonel?"

"I mean, why you? Why here? Why aren't you back deep in that mountain trying to get this thing to work?"

"I wish I could tell you," she said, avoiding using either his name or rank. "As for why me? It was the only way Catherine could keep me involved in the project."

"Catherine, that would be Dr. Catherine Langford, correct? I met her at one of the fund-raisers. Delightful woman. Sharp as a tack. You remind me of her," he said.

Sam truly took it as a compliment. "Thank you, Sir, uh sorry, Roy."

Sanders smiled. "You'll get used to it soon enough. Now then, it appears there's some discrepancy as to who's running the show around here. If General West somehow side-stepped this office, I want to know how and I want to know why. That, Captain Sam is your first assignment." Handing her a floppy disk he added. "All the information should be on here. It lists the different offices here within the Pentagon, who handles what, when and why. I think you'll have your work cut out for you."

"It would appear so," Sam said, standing.

"Oh, one more thing. You're on coffee detail tomorrow. We all take turns around here."

Sam let her duffel bag drop to the floor as she surveyed her new, extremely empty apartment. There wasn't a stick of furniture in the place. Looking around the expanse, she counted herself fortunate to have light bulbs. She couldn't believe how lost she felt. Even when she was over-seas in a tent, things had felt more "homey." Of course, there were other people to share the newness with. Here, all there was, was her.

Crumpling to the floor next to her bag, Sam didn't care how un-ladylike she looked sitting there in her dress blues, knees hugged to her chest. God, she missed Sheila! When she thought back to the warm welcome she'd received three years ago, she felt like crying. Of course it didn't help she'd said good-bye to her friend only that morning. Or while she was at the airport she'd spotted Jonas down the hall, pacing, as if trying to decide to speak to her or not. Just as he started to move forward, they announced her flight, and Sam took the opportunity to leave before he had a chance to talk to her.

They hadn't spoken since she'd given him back the ring, and part of her missed him terribly, while the other was still angry with his attitude. If she spoke to him, she wasn't sure which part was going to win out, and emotionally she couldn't afford either choice. So, she ran. Got on the plane as soon as she could, and didn't look back.

Now, here she sat, in her depressing one bedroom walk-up. Apparently the apartments in this section of town were reserved for military personnel working at the Pentagon, and someone had arranged for her to take over the lease upon her arrival. Sam really was grateful this chore had been taken care of, considering the whirlwind day she'd had, but was it too much to ask for to have a chair or a bed?

Getting to her feet, Sam noticed a phone was installed. Picking up the receiver, she found it had a dial tone. Well, at least she could order some dinner. That is if she could remember her new address. A staff car had dropped her off, and the driver told her someone would return at 0700 tomorrow to take her back to the Pentagon. One more thing to be thankful for-at least she didn't have to try to navigate around Washington.

Navigate, she laughed. How far was this assignment from flying planes? Or shuttles for that matter? How the hell was this going to get her into NASA? Was Project Giza _*really*_ worth it when she was now so far removed?

This was not the time to be making career choices, Sam realized. She was lonely, depressed and just a little overwhelmed by the importance of her new posting. She knew she had to give her new assignment a shot before she threw in the towel and asked to go back to NORAD or some other routine lab job.

Sighing, Sam decided the first thing she was going to have to do tomorrow was get a bed, even if it just consisted of a mattress on the floor. She'd roughed it in Saudi, for goodness sake, she chastised herself. She could handle a new apartment!

Unpacking her uniforms consisted of moving them from the bag to a designated spot on the floor of her bedroom. As she stacked the outfits, Sam realized the BDUs wouldn't be of much use. She was going to have to requisition more dress uniforms. One day in heels and she was ready to swap them for her army boots. Too bad Colonel Sanders didn't feel it was appropriate to relax the dress code as much as he did other regulations.

She had to admit she liked him. Although she wasn't quite sure what to expect, Colonel "Chicken Man" Sanders wasn't who she envisioned. Marla had taken her to lunch to acclimate her a bit with the facility, but Sam found it difficult to concentrate on the woman's gossip when she had no clue whom the lieutenant was talking about. After her first day in the Office of Scientific Research and Development, she felt comfortable, more than she had anticipated.

After calling for a pizza delivery, Sam broke down and called Sheila. Laughing with her over the state of her new living quarters helped Sam feel better, even as she wished her friend wasn't so far away.

"Did you see Jonas at the airport?" Sheila asked.

"Yeah. You talk to him?"

"I said 'hi,' but that was it. He seemed kind of embarrassed I caught him there. How are you doing with that?"

"Oh, Sheila," Sam sighed. "I don't know. I mean I know I did the right thing in breaking it off with him, but it's so hard, you know? We were together for so long, even though he wasn't always around, I was still part of a couple. It's hard to think of myself without him."

"Yeah," Sheila agreed. "You _*did*_ do the right thing, Sam."

"I know," she said, her words echoing off the barren walls.

"Someday your prince will come," Sheila laughed.

"Yeah, but with my luck I will have walked right past him," she said. Suddenly changing the subject, Sam launched into a tale about her new C.O. "Hey, you are _*not*_ going to believe who my new boss is. . . ."

Sam settled into her new job with surprising enthusiasm. Science was a mystery that needed methodical unraveling, and she used the same techniques to ferret out how General West was getting around their office to get approval for the changes he'd implemented at Cheyenne Mountain. Apparently, the General had some friends in pretty high places who owed him some favors. Unfortunately, exposing the connection would do more harm than good. If an investigation ensued, the powers that be would, at the very least, put a halt to further research on the ring. And the worst case scenario would be the dissolution of the entire project. Sam couldn't allow that to happen. No matter how much it galled her West was getting away with it.

Sam sat in Roy's office, waiting as he read her report. He read surprisingly fast and almost before she'd settled into her seat, he was asking her questions.

"You end this on a rather ambiguous note, Sam. Any particular reason?"

"Well, I was trying to think of the implications of bringing this to the attention of those either involved or higher up. Project Giza is still a secret project even here within the Pentagon. If it's investigated further, I think it will ultimately cause more harm than good. It could attract public attention, and I think we both agree it's the last thing that should happen."

"Yes, I do agree with you on that, but I also don't like being made a fool of. The fact that West has gotten away with this doesn't stick in your craw? Especially since your removal from the project has something to do with this?"

"I'd be lying if I said it didn't, but this project is bigger than my personal needs. Isn't that what service in the Air Force is about? Serving the greater good?"

"Damn, Sam, you're getting me all misty, here," Sanders said, wiping away an imaginary tear. "Look, _*I*_ don't like that he's getting away with this and I don't even know the guy."

"I can't say that I know him well either, but he's never given me the impression of having a personal agenda. He's just a nut about security! I think he's plain paranoid the ring is a weapon of some kind and he feels we haven't been taking his warnings seriously enough, so, he went around us."

"You know the most about that thing," Roy said. "Do *you* think it's a weapon?"

Sam scrubbed her hands over her face, sitting back in the chair. "Honestly, I don't know. Could it be a weapon? Yes, definitely. It could easily be some kind of bomb just waiting for us to figure it out and blow ourselves up. But if it _*was*_ some type of explosive device, why such a complicated sequence to detonate it? It's taken us nearly fifteen years with three super-computers and we still haven't figured it out. I doubt the ancient Egyptians would have come up with the answer on their own."

Standing, Sam began to pace the room. "I'm going to say something you're probably not going to believe or at least think I'm crazy for believing, but I'd like you to hear me out."

Roy removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Go ahead."

"You've read the reports stating the ring is made from a unique material, out of something that's not found on Earth." Roy nodded, motioning for her to continue. "Most of the speculation is that it's a chunk of a meteor that was fashioned into the ring. But how would ancient people have done that? It's nearly impervious to modern tools, let alone crude, early metal tools. I don't think it was carved with something available on Earth at the time." Sam looked at her C.O. who was peering at her between splayed fingers.

"What, exactly are you suggesting, Sam? That aliens left it here? That it's all part of that "Chariot's Of The Gods" hoopla? I thought that went out in the seventies."

"I know I'm going out on a limb here, but yes, I do. And I believe Catherine does too. She's never come right out and said it, but I think it's the real reason she tried to get Daniel Jackson involved in the project."

Sanders rifled through the papers on his desk, pulling one from near the top. "Dr. Daniel Jackson? The guy who claims Egyptian hieroglyphs are a derivative of a much older _*alien*_ writing?"

"Um, that would be him," Sam admitted, casting Roy a sheepish glance. "Okay, it sounds ludicrous, but there are too many indications this is a _*device,*_ not a bomb. Just for the sake of argument, let's say it _*is*_ alien in nature. Obviously it comes from a culture far more advanced than ours, and certainly more advanced than the ancient Egyptians. These. . .others wouldn't need a bomb to subjugate the people. If destroying them was their objective, they could have wiped them off the face of the Earth, probably from space. They wouldn't need some complicated explosive device they'd have to wait for us to figure out."

"Assuming, for the moment you're right, what does this have to do with West going around this office?"

"He's convinced it holds a threat of some kind. Personally? I think he knows something we don't."

"What other information could there be? You worked with the team that's doing the research, you would know everything there is to know."

"Catherine told me about a discrepancy over some missing records when she began her research in 1978. According to General Perkins, the original Air Force liaison, there were records of prior experimentation."

Sanders flipped through the file before him. "I don't remember reading anything about that."

"I don't think it's documented," Sam said, taking her seat once more. "The army originally had jurisdiction over the ring, and Catherine _*swears*_ there was a box of records stored in the same armory when she re-acquired the ring. However, when the object was moved to Colorado, the records seemed to have disappeared. I think somehow those files have surfaced, and General West has them."

Roy absent-mindedly tapped his fingers on his desk. "What if he does? What purpose would it serve to keep any information they might contain secret? If there _*is*_ evidence the ring is dangerous, why not prove it's a threat and have the project shut down? Or if it isn't, why not supply Catherine with what might be a missing piece of the puzzle?"

"I don't know," Sam said, shrugging her shoulders. "I don't understand it either, but my point is, I don't think we should back him into a corner. He's gotten his clearance to take over the project and step up security. He seems happy with that. Maybe we should just bide our time and see if Jackson joins the project and he's the answer Catherine's been waiting for."

"And if he isn't?"

"Well, in that case, I think we're going to have to confront General West. Hopefully it won't come to that."

It was later that same afternoon, Sam got a call from Catherine letting her know Daniel Jackson was now officially part of the research team.

"Dr. Jackson arrived this morning," Catherine told her. "He was more than a little overwhelmed by the facility, which, I suppose is to be expected. NORAD itself is quite impressive, let alone our little corner of Cheyenne Mountain."

Sam smiled. "Little corner, huh? Well, if you saw the figures for the budget, I don't think you'd use that term."

"I've seen the expenditure reports, and I agree this is a costly undertaking, but Sam, we're close, I can feel it. You should have seen Jackson when he saw the cover stones. I swear the man was having a religious experience!"

"Sorry I missed it."

There was the sound of an exhaled breath on the other end of the phone line. "So am I."

"So!" Sam said brightly, "how did Gary take meeting Jackson?"

"He was rather gracious, actually. So was Barbara."

"I didn't expect her to be inhospitable."

"Well, she and Gary have been on the project practically from day one and they have a tendency to stick together. I know Gary had misgivings, so naturally I thought Barbara would have them as well."

"I'm glad things went smoothly," Sam said.

"I wouldn't say they went 'smoothly,' exactly."

"Oh? What happened?"

"Once Jackson managed to regain his composure after seeing the cover stones, he noticed Gary's translation on the black board. Before any of us could stop him, he's mumbling to himself, erasing bits here, crossing off parts there, changing the translation almost completely."

"You're kidding!" Sam cried, sitting up taller in her chair. "Gary must have been fuming!"

"More disheartened than anything, "Catherine told her.

"Just because Dr. Jackson changed the translation doesn't mean he's right."

"I agree, but given what we've been able to piece together about the ring, I'd say odds are he _*is*_ correct."

"What does _*he*_ think the inscription on the stones says?"

"Something about 'sealed and buried for all time,' but the most significant thing he changed was the term 'doorway to heaven.' Jackson insists it should be read 'Stargate.'"

"Stargate," Sam breathed. "Catherine, this is one of the things we were speculating on! Do you think he's right?"

"I'm trying not to get my hopes up, but this does substantiate one of my favorite theories. What if this really _*is*_ a portal to another world? An _*alien*_ world that once had contact with our own?"

"I was just talking to Colonel Sanders about that very thing. He didn't come right out and call me a kook, but I could tell he thought I was on the edge of credibility."

"I'd be the first one to admit it sounds far-fetched," Catherine said. "But just because it sounds outlandish, doesn't mean it can't be true. Years ago, who would have even conceived of a construction such as NORAD? Or half the things we hail as 'modern miracles?' We may look like fools at the moment, but who'll be laughing if we're actually _*right?*_"

Sam rubbed a hand across her eyebrows. "Well, the Colonel may have me in for a psych evaluation, but I'll pass this along. For what it's worth, I believe you. I just have to make my C.O. see I haven't lost it. So, where do you go from here? Jackson may have changed the translation, but does that bring you any closer to finding out how to make it work?"

"If we head in this 'Stargate' direction, it might give us some place to start. At least it will eliminate some of the other things we've been trying."

"Has he seen the ring yet?"

"I wanted to show him, but General West insisted knowledge of the ring was on a need-to-know basis. Frankly, I don't know how he expects any results from Jackson when he's working in the dark, but it's part of our agreement. He won't dictate who I bring on the project, but I won't question his orders, either. It's kind of like working with one hand tied behind my back."

Although Catherine couldn't see her, Sam found herself nodding. "I think he's just biding his time until yours runs out."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you told me yourself these next six months are your last chance before the funding is revoked. Maybe West is just waiting you out, then he'll be able to close the project down for good. I suppose by not letting Dr. Jackson see the ring he's holding you up and keeping a civilian uninformed at the same time."

"I suppose that is what he's trying to do," Catherine agreed. "But it's not going to work. If it takes working around the clock, we _*will*_ see this project through."

"Catherine, do you think West wanting to remove me was just to slow you down or do you think he has some other plan in mind?" Sam heard the woman's intake of breath and waited for her answer.

"I can't honestly say. Maybe both." In the background Sam heard a door opening, the sound of muffled voices, then Catherine on the line once more. "I have to go, but Gary and Barbara asked me to send their best. I'll let you know as soon as we know anything. Good-bye, Sam. Keep the faith!"

Sam smiled into the receiver, "you too. Talk to you soon." Slowly, she hung up the phone. What she wouldn't give to be back, deep inside the mountain, experiencing the thrill of yet another piece of the puzzle falling into place. Jackson must really be something to have deciphered the glyphs so quickly. She looked forward to the time she could actually meet him.

Two weeks later, Sam was beginning to settle into her routine at the Pentagon, and she was surprised to find she didn't mind the assignment as much as she thought. Of course Colonel Sanders and Marla had a lot to do with that. The relaxed atmosphere of their office made her feel at home almost from the start. It wasn't all that different from her first weeks working on Project Giza.

Although she wasn't conducting research of her own, Sam found herself fascinated with other projects the military had in the works. Unfortunately, she often found herself side-tracked by delving further into the proposals than her job warranted. More than once Colonel Sanders had to remind her she was there to help decide which projects should be granted funding for _*other_* scientists to work on. She wasn't there to do the research herself.

Sam imagined this was how generals felt, after finally working their way up the ranks. No longer were they allowed to join missions, only orchestrate them. It gave her new respect for her father's position, knowing how much he still wanted to actively participate. Just as she was dying to roll up her sleeves and dive into most of the proposals that came across her desk.

She was musing over her lack of involvement when the phone rang. Almost distractedly, Sam picked up the handset.

"Captain Carter."

"Sam! I have wonderful news!" Catherine's voice was so full of enthusiasm, she immediately had Sam's attention. Before she could ask what was so wonderful, Catherine rushed on. "Jackson's identified the seventh symbol! It was right before us the entire time!"

"That's amazing! Sam breathed. "Which one was it?"

"You remember how the cartouche contained six glyphs?"

"Yeah, they were the first six, so where was the seventh?"

"Just outside, at the base."

Sam mentally pictured the cover stones, trying to envision what would have been the seventh symbol. "There was no symbol on the ring like the one on the cover stones," she pointed out.

"Not exactly, no."

"Catherine, you're not making any sense. We tried every combination we could think of, we couldn't get past the six."

"I suppose I'm getting a bit ahead of myself," she said, taking a deep breath and slowing down her speech. "Soon after Jackson re-translated the text, he discovered the glyphs were actually representative of star constellations."

A final piece of the puzzle clicked in Sam's brain. "Of course! That's it! It makes perfect sense! Especially considering you now know the ring to be called a 'Stargate!' So that's why it hasn't worked! In order to find a point in space, you need seven co-ordinates and we only had six!"

"Correct. We were missing a glyph for the point of origin."

"So, how did you find this glyph if it's not on the Stargate?"

"Here's the interesting part. Jackson was explaining his theory to General West, Colonel O'Neill and some of my staff. When he claimed there was a seventh glyph, one that was outside the cartouche, Gary made the mistake of commenting there was no symbol like that on the device. Needless to say, Jackson was confused. I told West, Daniel needed to know, that he couldn't get any further without the seeing the Stargate. He wasn't happy with me, knowing I'd cornered him in front of so many people, but he relented. If I thought Daniel had been in awe seeing the cover stones, the Stargate had him totally captivated."

"I can imagine," Sam smiled. "I remember the first time I saw it. A feeling like that never leaves you."

"I can second that," Catherine replied, voice thick with emotion. Clearing her throat, she continued. "In any case, before we could stop him, Jackson was out of the conference room and down into the control room, taking in all of the equipment used to operate the Stargate.

"At my suggestion, we started the inner ring moving so he could see how it worked. You know how the center monitor shows a close up of the chevrons being locked? Well, Daniel's eyes were on that screen when he noticed the semi-triangular glyph. He had us stop the ring, and on either side of the 'tent' he drew a figure that matched the symbol outside of the cartouche! I don't know why we didn't notice the similarity before, or why all the other glyphs are the same on the stones as they are on the ring. So, we input the new co-ordinates into the computer, tried it, and Sam, it worked! Oh, God, I wish you could have been here to see it!"

Listening to Catherine's narrative, Sam felt a tingle travel down her spine. However, her excitement was short lived at the thought she'd been left out of the Stargate's activation. It didn't help matters that Catherine's new "golden boy" had been the one to unlock the secret she and the others had spent years on. For the first time, she realized how Barbara and Gary must have felt when she'd made progress on the ring. Not that they weren't pleased with the discoveries, but there had to be a twinge of resentfulness there as well. Just as she was feeling now.

"Catherine, that's marvelous news!" she responded, hoping her voice sounded sincere and not like a jealous sibling. "So what happened when the seventh chevron engaged?"

"It's hard to describe. There was this 'whoosh' of air, and what looked like a whirlpool of water exploding from the ring. Then it collapsed back on itself, leaving what appeared to be a puddle of water, trapped within the ring by some invisible force."

"It sounds like how a wormhole would react," Sam murmured. "The invisible force could be the event horizon."

"You'd be the one who could confirm it. This is way beyond anything I know. It seems to be the consensus, though."

Sam found the hand not holding the phone's receiver clenching into a fist. She should be there! She was the one who would know what they were looking at! "So, what happened after the phenomenon stabilized?"

"General West had a probe sent through. The images weren't very clear, but one thing we _*did*_ see was the partial image of a Stargate on the other side. I'm telling you, Sam, I still get goose bumps just thinking about it!"

"So, now what? He can't just leave things like this! What other kinds of data did the probe send back? Is there a breathable atmosphere?"

"From all indications, it seems to be a planet that mirrors our own. Perhaps the reason the Stargate was left here in the first place."

"West _*is*_ thinking about a recon mission isn't he? Catherine, if he is, I _*have*_ to be on that team! You have to convince him to let me go! They're going to need what I know!"

"Sam, calm down! There's no word yet on what action is going to be taken. General West is still dragging his feet. It's actually O'Neill who's pushing for this mission."

"You sound surprised."

"Well, he's been nearly as reticent as West. It's almost as if he's _*looking*_ for danger, wanting to take the risk. It's odd, considering his main focus up until now has been keeping us from progressing. From exploring what the Stargate can do."

"What do you suppose caused his change of heart?"

"I'm not sure, but he and West shared this look, and now he's all for seeing what's on the other side. Like his main objective has changed. I have no idea what goes on in a soldier's mind. Maybe you have some insight into that."

"It was obviously something the two of them had discussed before," Sam speculated. "Otherwise I doubt a simple look would have changed O'Neill's mind."

"O'Neill can be pretty unorthodoxed, so I'm assuming he's in agreement with whatever silent orders West had given him. Oh, wait, Gary just handed me a memo." There was a silence for a minute or two as Catherine read to herself.

"Sam? You still there?"

"I'm here. What did it say?"

Again there was silence as Catherine hesitated. "West has given the go ahead for a recon mission through the Stargate."

"That's fantastic! Look, I can catch a transport and be there in. . ."

"Sam, the team has been selected. It's to be O'Neill, three other Special Ops. officers, and. . .Jackson," she finished quietly.

"What? Catherine you can't be serious! West is crazy! He knows I'm the best chance that team has in case the other Stargate isn't working! And sending a _*civilian?*_"

"I'm sure he isn't happy about it either, but Jackson made a point-he did figure out the seventh symbol on the Stargate. From the video transmissions we received, we could see the glyphs on the second Stargate are slightly different. Besides, that 'gate is going to have a different point of origin which someone's got to identify. Sam, you're good. You know your science, but Jackson knows languages. In this instance he is the best choice."

Swallowing her pride, Sam closed her eyes momentarily as she replied, "okay, you're right. But I should be there too. If West has some kind of 'personnel limit,' have him bump one of the Special Ops guys. I can handle whatever they can."

"Sam," Catherine sighed, "this mission is planned to leave at 1500. There's no way you could be here in time."

Sam glanced at her watch. 1200. Damn! "Talk them into delaying, just another hour. What's one more hour?"

"I've already tried talking to them. I've done everything I can short of lying down on the ramp to prevent them leaving. Sam, I'm truly sorry, but General West is not going to allow you on this mission. I don't know why, but I'm doing my best to find out. I know how hard this must be for you. . . ."

"No, I don't think you do," Sam said, her voice cold. "I know you did your best, and for that, I thank you. I better let you go. You don't want to miss them leaving. Let me know what happens." Before Catherine had a chance to add anything, Sam hung up the phone. She was shaking so hard, her teeth were chattering. Clutching her arms across her chest, Sam practically collapsed onto her chair as her knees gave out.

This was no mere disappointment of being left behind. This wasn't as simple as another soldier being chosen over her for some inconsequential mission. This was her life, her passion. All she cared about since she'd began working on Project Giza was seeing it to it's conclusion. Finding out what it was and what it was capable of. And now it was truly gone. Oh, she could read the reports, listen to the tales of those that were there, but it wasn't the same as experiencing it first hand. Christ, West wouldn't even allow her there for the test! What the hell did he have against her anyway?

Sam wiped her face, surprised to find her hand wet. She couldn't remember crying, but obviously she had. Taking a deep breath, she wiped the rest of the moisture from her face, checking her appearance in the small hand mirror she kept in her desk. Her make-up hadn't smudged. Good. It was the first thing that had gone right today.

"Okay, Carter, suck it up," she said aloud, squaring her shoulders. "Is this anyway for an Air Force captain to behave? You keep saying you're just as tough as they are? Well prove it. Get over it." Sam replaced the mirror, pushing the drawer closed. Hastily, she made some notes and stood, ready to deliver the latest news to Roy. Perhaps if she buried herself in official business, she could forget how numb she still felt.

Sam was half-way through her seventh gin and tonic when Marla removed the glass from her hand.

"Hey! Sam cried, working at focusing on the woman across from her.

"Come on, Sam. That's number seven."

"Seven chevrons, seven drinks. Appropriate, don't you think?" Sam asked, swaying slightly in her chair.

"Look, when you asked me to come out for a drink with you, I didn't think you were out to break some kind of record. I know you had a disappointment today. . ."

"Disappointment?" Sam spat, sounding more coherent than she had in the past half hour. "It's over. Everything I care about is gone," she said, cradling her head.

"It's not that I don't sympathize with what you're going through," Marla said, genuine concern scrunching up her facial features. "But I really need to get going. John was stopping by tonight, and. . ."

"Say no more," Sam said, sitting up-right, waving her hand through the air with an uncoordinated sweep. "Far be it from me to stand in the path of true love."

"Let me call you a cab," Marla offered.

"Okay, so I'm a cab," Sam said, trying to stifle a giggle. "Oh, I must be drunk. I'm starting to quote Henny Youngman."

"Who?"

Sam lay her head down on her crossed arms that were resting on the cocktail table. "Well, maybe I've got the comic wrong."

Marla picked up her cell phone, ordering a taxi. Sam managed to sneak her drink back while she was on the phone, which the lieutenant promptly removed once more.

"Come on, Sam," she said, helping her to stand. "The cab will be here any minute." Sam stood on unsteadily legs, leaning heavily on Marla. "You sure you can make it home okay?" she asked.

"I'm fine," Sam said, emphasizing the word "fine" with an exhaled breath. "I'm fine. Sam Carter is always fine."

Marla gave her a doubtful look as she glanced once more at her watch. "Hey, I'll cover for you with Roy if you're not up to coming into work tomorrow."

"I may take you up on that," Sam said, clutching her stomach. God she felt sick! _*Please don't let me get sick now,*_ she prayed.

"Hang in there, Sam. I think I see your cab."

The taxi pulled up in front of the bar's entrance with a screech, causing Sam to take a step backward. If this guy drove her home at that rate of speed, he was going to have an unpleasant reminder of her time in his car.

Marla helped her in, giving her address to the driver. "Call me tomorrow, okay? And I meant what I said about Roy."

"Thanks, Marla," Sam said, giving the woman a weak smile. "I definitely owe you a binge of your own."

"Not too soon, I hope," she smiled. "'Night Sam."

Sam closed her eyes, as she heard the door click shut, but was unprepared for the sudden burst of speed as the driver pulled into the early evening traffic. Clutching at the door handle, Sam found herself praying once more. Not only that the contents of her stomach would remain in place, but that she'd live long enough to make sure it did.

Sam raised her head from the arm of the sofa at the sound of someone insistently knocking on her door. She had no idea who it would be, especially since Marla had left for her hot date. Maybe she'd been overcome by a sense of protectiveness and wanted to assure herself Sam was still breathing.

She'd managed to shed her uniform, but still mysteriously wore her stockings and shoes. Wrapping her robe tighter, Sam made her way to the door.

"Who is it?"

There was a beat then the sound of a man clearing his throat. "Jonas."

"Fucking great," she muttered, surprising even herself at the uncharacteristic use of profanity. Opening the door, but leaving the chain attached, Sam put her face to the small space, eyeing half of Jonas' body. "What do you want?"

"I want to talk to you," he said, his voice low as he looked around the hallway.

"Well, I don't want to talk to you. Go away, Jonas."

"Sam, please! I came all this way! Just give me five minutes, okay?"

Sam looked away from the crack in the door. She didn't need this now. Not on top of everything else. What did God have against her today, anyway? Shoulders slumping in defeat, Sam closed the door enough to remove the chain, then flung it open. She stood there, hand on her hip, blocking his entrance.

"You've got five minutes."

Jonas took in her appearance with a sweeping glance. "New look, Sam? Can't say it does much for you."

"Always the charmer," she said, allowing him to pass.

Jonas' gaze was traveling around her small, sparsely furnished apartment. "I see now Sheila was the decorator in the family," he said, starting to remove his coat.

"Don't bother," she said, nodding at his coat. "You're not going to be here that long."

Jonas actually had the grace to look crestfallen at her words. "What's with all the hostility? I know you weren't expecting me, but I didn't think you to be so venomous."

"Didn't you? Jonas, it's over. You wouldn't even consider discussing ways to cope with my assignment here. You made it pretty clear Special Ops was more important than me."

"Kind of like your little project was more important than me?" Jonas shot back. Sam didn't have a counter for his argument, so she breezed past him, entering the kitchen.

"I've missed you, Sam," he said at length.

"Yeah, so much I haven't heard a word from you in over four months," she replied, back turned to him.

She had to admit, she missed him too. Maybe that's why she was being so antagonistic. Anger was a good defense against the feelings he could still evoke in her. But it wasn't the Jonas of late she missed. It was the man she'd met at a party commemorating her advancement to captain. That man didn't seem to exist anymore. However, Sam couldn't deny the person before her still had the power to stir her heart. She wanted to believe it was just the alcohol, but she knew the truth. She was lonely and it wouldn't take much persuasion on his part to lure her into his arms again. No matter how wrong it was.

"I was giving you some space, some time to think," he said, shrugging off his coat, despite her warning he wouldn't be there long.

Sam turned to face him. "About what? I doubt very much if things have changed. It was a waste of your time coming here."

"It's my time to waste," he said, toying with a picture frame on an end table.

"I'm surprised you didn't come armed with flowers. After all, that's your usual tactic."

"I thought about it," he admitted. "I was serious when I said I was here to talk, that's all."

Sam felt her resolve slipping. "So talk."

Jonas gave a mirthless chuckle, rubbing his eyebrows. "You know, now that I'm here, I'm really not sure what to say. I had this whole speech worked up on the plane, but I can't seem to remember a word of it."

"Well, you better think fast, because your time's running out." Just then Sam swayed, one hand clutching her stomach, the other clamped over her mouth. ". . .gonna be sick. . . ." Turning and taking two steps to the sink, Sam felt the contents of her stomach rising to her throat.

Hunched over the sink, Sam felt Jonas' hand on her back, rubbing gently. "Deja vu," he said. "You okay?"

"I will be," she said, spitting into the sink, reaching for a glass to fill with water.

"I take it you don't have the flu?" Jonas asked.

"No."

"Pregnant?" he ventured.

Sam's head popped up, her eyes half-lidded as she stared at him. "I won't even dignify that with an answer."

"Sooo. Sammie went out on a bender," Jonas said, his tone almost smug. "I didn't think you had it in you."

"I don't anymore," she quipped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

"Come on," he said, helping her to the sofa. "Sit down before you fall down."

Sam settled on the couch, as far from him as possible. Kicking off her shoes, she drew her legs to the sofa, as her head fell against the back of the couch.

Adjusting his position, Jonas turned to her. "So, what brought this on?"

"Nothing. I felt like a drink, okay? I just got a little carried away. It happens, you know."

"Not to you it doesn't. Sam, in the years I've known you, I've never seen you falling-down drunk. A little tipsy, but that's it."

"I guess you don't know me as well as you thought," she glared at him.

Jonas looked down, playing with the band of his watch. "No, I guess I don't. You used to be able to tell me what was bugging you."

"'Used to' being the operative words here. Look, Jonas, I'm _*really*_ not up for this tonight. Couldn't we find some other time to play 'remember when?'" Sam felt her eyelids droop and she wasn't sure if Jonas answered her or not as sleep overcame her.

Sam's eyelids fluttered open as she recognized the scent of coffee brewing. It would have been delightful if she had a coffee pot with a timer, but since she didn't, it had to mean Jonas hadn't left last night. It also explained how she ended up in her bed when she'd fallen asleep on the sofa.

Pulling her pillow over her head, Sam groaned into the feathers, wishing her head would stop pounding. She flung the pillow aside once the need for air became too great. She didn't want to leave her bed, have to face him and his insistence on talking once more. Glancing at the clock, she noted she could still make it to work if she hurried. Although Marla told her she'd cover, Sam didn't want to instigate another round of questioning from Roy by not showing up.

Still clad in her robe, Sam made her way to the kitchen, noticing Jonas as he helped himself to the freshly brewed coffee. Turning around, he smiled at her.

"'Morning. How are you feeling?"

"I've been better," she admitted. Not caring how rude she sounded, Sam asked, "Jonas, why are you still here?"

Taking a sip from his coffee, he thought for a moment. "We never talked last night. So, being the gentleman I am, I helped you to bed and spent the night on the couch. You obviously didn't pick that one for comfort," he complained, stretching his back.

"I don't recall inviting you to try out the accommodations." Sam passed him to retrieve a mug from her cupboard. It seemed pointless to ignore the coffee when she could really use it. "I don't know what there is to discuss," she said, filling her cup. Moving to face him she added, "you need to be in control, and I can't live like that. End of story."

"I'm going to see someone again. Another. . .psychologist." He could barely bring himself to say the word. Setting down his coffee, he stepped closer, grasping her upper arms. "Look, Sam, I'll do anything you ask. Just please say we can try again!"

Sam shrugged off Jonas' hands. "You just don't get it, do you? I want you to see a psychologist because _*you*_ think you could use some help, not because I want you too. That was the problem before. You weren't serious about therapy-you just did it because you thought it was what I wanted!"

"Didn't you? Weren't you the one who was always asking how things were going with Dr. Fredricks?"

"Yes, I did, but it was because I was concerned about you. If you really wanted help, you would be in therapy right now, regardless of what I think you should do. We've played this game before, and we both come out the loser."

Jonas tapped his fingers on the countertop, glancing back up at her. "So that's it? We're really through?"

Sam felt her throat constricting as she blinked back unshed tears. "Don't make this any harder than it already is."

"It can't be that hard, you're still throwing me out of your life."

"Would it be better to pretend everything is okay? Would you rather we had an ugly fight down the road once we realize-again-that we weren't meant to be?"

Jonas picked up his coat, sliding his arms into the sleeves. "Well, at least I could have had the illusion for a little longer."

Now Sam's tears did fall slowly down her cheeks. "That's the problem. It's always been about your perception of events. You telling me how I should think and feel. Always dictating where I should be. You're not God, Jonas, as much as you would like to think so."

Walking to the door, Jonas stopped before turning the door knob. He looked over his shoulder at her, eyes narrowed. "We'll see each other again, Sam. And when we do, you'll see how wrong you are."

She let him go without another word, sagging against the door when he'd left. Wiping away the last of her tears, she whispered, "oh, I wish I was."

The next few days didn't improve as Sam kept replaying her encounter with Jonas and her last conversation with Catherine. It had been four days. Shouldn't O'Neill and his team have returned by now? Why hadn't she called? Roy had told her on more than one occasion to either cut the caffeine or get a hobby, because she was driving him nuts with her fidgeting. She'd tried to be patient, knowing sooner or later there would be a report of the Stargate mission, but the longer it took, the more agitated she became.

Something had obviously gone wrong, or else Catherine would have filled her in on the details. Or she was so busy analyzing data, she didn't have time to pick up the phone?

Sam was in Roy's office, discussing her latest project recommendations when Marla tapped on the door.

"Sam, Catherine Langford is calling for you. You want to take it in here?"

"I'll take it in my office, that is if it's all right with you?" Sam asked, glancing at Sanders as she rose.

Roy dismissed her with a wave of her hand. "Run along, Captain. I _*do*_ expect a full report, though," he said, peering at her over the rims of his glasses.

"Yes, Sir!"

Sam tried not to seem too eager as she crossed to her office, but she knew both Marla and Roy were watching her, as curious as she to discover what had happened at Cheyenne Mountain.

"Catherine!" Sam cried once she was on the line. "I've been going nuts here! What happened? Everything go okay? Everyone back in one piece?"

"Well, there were some complications," Catherine admitted quietly.

"Complications?"

"It's Jackson. He didn't come back with the others."

Sam was speechless. She knew how excited Catherine had been at the prospect of working with the young man. Being the solitary civilian, and the only casualty, West was going to have a bird.

"Catherine, I'm so sorry." The words caught in her throat as she thought of the exceptional linguist she hadn't even met. "What happened?"

Catherine tried to steady her voice. "There. . .there was a nuclear bomb that destroyed the other gate. Apparently it was West's intention all along to assess the risk to Earth, and destroy the other 'gate if necessary."

"And Jackson?"

"O'Neill reported he didn't make it back to the Stargate in time. He was killed along with the rest of the people on Abydos."

"Abydos?"

"It's what the people called their planet. As if we needed any further evidence the race using the Stargate had stolen those people from Egypt."

"Wait a second," Sam said. "You've lost me. The Stargate was used to relocate people to another planet?"

"Yes. Slaves who toiled same as the would have on Earth. The only difference being, these people never over-threw their oppressors. Essentially they're at the same level technologically as they were when they were taken from Earth."

"This is incredible," Sam mumbled. "It's like a page out of history! Do you know how much we can learn about the ancient world from these people?"

"Could have. Past tense, Sam. O'Neill followed his orders and blew up the Stargate on Abydos. I'm sure no one survived the blast," Catherine said bitterly.

Sam was dumbfounded. How could O'Neill make the decision to destroy an entire *world?* No, it wasn't just his decision. He was merely a cog in a greater wheel. It was General West and the person he had in his pocket here in Washington. They all had a say in O'Neill's orders. Now his appointment to Project Giza was starting to make sense. Jack O'Neill had resigned due to emotional difficulties. Who better to send on a suicide mission than a man who didn't value his life? God, she felt sorry for the men sent to accompany him!

Another thought hit Sam point blank. This was why she'd been transferred. Why West wanted her off the project. At the time she didn't understand his cryptic words, professing her "too valuable an asset" to be working on a single civilian project. It seemed ironic he was actually looking out for her welfare, as he was plotting the annihilation of an entire people. From the time he replaced her with O'Neill, he'd been planning this. His alleged co-operation with Catherine was only so he was in a position to implement his plan. Sam never considered West to be a stupid man, but his unbridled paranoia cost the world more than just the counterpart to an alien device. It deprived Earth of a passionate scientist and a chance at discovering first hand how an ancient culture lived. It was a incalculable loss on both counts.

"Well, I have my answer as to why West had me transferred," Sam said at length.

"I guessed the same thing. Perhaps it was for the best that you were away from here."

"And what about all of you? You were 'acceptable' risks?"

"Apparently so." From the tone of her voice, Sam imagined Catherine shrugging with her last statement.

"Catherine, maybe you should back up. Start at the beginning."

There was a tired sigh on the other end of the phone line, then she began. "O'Neill is in the process of writing up his official report, but I can tell you what he told me. Apparently when they got to the other side, the other Stargate was housed in some sort of building, which, it turned out, was actually the base of a great pyramid.

"O'Neill and his team did a quick recon of the area, probably for appearance sake, and when he ordered Jackson to re-dial the 'gate, Daniel said he couldn't do it."

"Why not?"

"According to O'Neill, Daniel needed a symbol for the point of origin which he assumed would be near the 'gate, as it was on the cover stones for our Stargate."

"And it wasn't," Sam supplied.

"The colonel tried to play down how annoyed he'd been with Jackson, but I'd seen how he treated him here. I'm sure he threatened Daniel within an inch of his life if he didn't find the missing glyph."

"Catherine, you don't think O'Neill had anything to do with Jackson's death? Other than bad timing?"

"No, no!" she answered quickly. "O'Neill is a lot of things, but he wouldn't willingly sacrifice one of his team."

"And yet he could murder an entire population. How many people were there on Abydos?"

"He said he saw about 5000. Who knows the actual number."

"God," Sam breathed, closing her eyes, hoping to shut out the memory of what it had to be like to kill that many people at once. She had a hard enough time rationalizing it during a war, let alone on what *should* have been a mission of exploration. When had it turned into a first strike situation? She should have realized this was West's intent all along.

"So," Sam swallowed, trying to keep the bile from rising into her throat. "Daniel must have figured out the sequence or they wouldn't have made it back. Wouldn't he have been the one to send them home?"

"If he was still alive at that point."

"I don't understand."

"Unfortunately, O'Neill and the others _*did*_ encounter a threat. There was an alien who'd taken human form, posing as the Egyptian god Ra. He was the one who'd brought the people from Earth to be his slaves. And the one continuing to enslave the people."

Sam did some quick math. "You mean he was a descendant of this 'Ra.'"

"No, I mean the actual alien who'd taken a human body."

"But that's impossible! It's been thousands of years!"

"According to the colonel, this Ra had some type of 'rejuvenation' device that not only keep Ra perpetually young, it was capable of restoring life."

Sam felt her fingers tingling. What she wouldn't give to have a look at a machine like that!

"Needless to say, Ra fit the parameters for what would be considered a threat to Earth, so O'Neill went through with his plan to blow up the 'gate, taking Ra, the ill-fated Abydonians and Jackson with it."

"God," Sam said again, falling into her chair. "If only there'd been some other way."

"I agree," Catherine said, her voice void of energy. "We're starting to run some other calculations, other permutations to see if there may be other Stargates out there somewhere, but so far nothing's come up. I'm really beginning to think the link was only between Abydos and Earth. If that's the case, we'll never know what race it was who came to Earth all those years ago, or if they'll ever return."

Sam had been so elated when Marla told her Catherine was on the phone. Now all she felt was depressed. Not only for the loss of Daniel Jackson, but the wealth of information lost. All because they'd gone to the planet as a military operation rather than a research mission. But then, she wasn't there. Who's to say this threat from Ra might not have compromised Earth if O'Neill hadn't stopped him?

"So, what now?" Sam asked.

"There's talk of decommissioning the Stargate. I'm sure you'll be getting a memo about it shortly. Sam, I'm going to give politicking one last try, so I'll be in Washington tomorrow. I'll bring Colonel O'Neill's pre and post-mission reports with me. They'll explain things better than I did. I just thought I should call you before you went completely crazy."

Sam smiled. "Thank you for that."

"I have another favor to ask. Any chance you could pick me up at the airport?"

Sam was taken aback. Catherine always had a car waiting for her. "Uh, sure. Something up?"

"No, we really haven't had a chance to talk much lately."

Sam was puzzled by her somewhat cryptic statement, but brushed it off. For some reason there was something Catherine didn't feel comfortable revealing on the phone. "When does your flight arrive?"

"Eight a.m. Perhaps we could grab some breakfast?" she suggested.

"Eight it is. I'll see you then."

Sam hung up the phone, still perplexed at Catherine's request. She hoped whatever it was it wasn't something that was going to compromise her position in Roy's office.

Sam slid into the booth at the restaurant they'd chosen for breakfast, as she watched Catherine removing her coat before joining her. Sam's nails tapped an impatient rhythm on the table top as she waited for Catherine to settle. She'd refused to discuss her reasons for wanting to see Sam alone while they were driving, and she'd about reached the limit of her patience.

"Catherine," Sam said, closing her hand over the woman's as she reached for her menu. "We're not driving any more. Now tell me. What's such a big secret you couldn't tell me on the phone?"

Catherine opened her mouth just as the waitress approached their table offering coffee. Biding her time, Sam waited until they both had a cup before them before raising her eyebrows as she looked at her friend.

"I know you think I'm being overly dramatic, but I believe there's a tap on your phone. Information is getting out somewhere, and it leads back to the Office of Scientific Research and Development. These are O'Neill's reports," Catherine said, sliding two non-descript folders to her across the table. "These are his 'official' reports," she stressed.

"Of course they are," Sam said, picking up the top folder and quickly paging through the papers. The plain manila folder concealed the interior file that had "classified" emblazoned on it's cover. She shouldn't even be opening them in a public area, much less reading them, but Sam had to get a look at the contents. She couldn't wait to pore over them later when she returned to her office.

"Sam, I don't think you understand. This is what O'Neill _*said*_ happened. Not necessarily what did."

Sam closed the folder, placing both documents on the seat next to her. "What are you talking about? Are you saying Colonel O'Neill left something out of his reports?"

"According to him there is a 'minor discrepancy.'"

"Which would be?"

"The fate of Daniel Jackson and Abydos."

"That's what he calls *minor?*" Sam loudly whispered.

Catherine's gaze swept the room, as she leaned closer to Sam. "Jackson's not dead."

"And the people of Abydos?"

"Celebrating their victory over Ra, I should think," Catherine said with a smug grin as she picked up her coffee cup.

"So, why the secrecy? Why the lie? Why *hell* did you let me believe O'Neill committed genocide on that planet?"

"You reported back to Colonel Sanders after I talked to you, correct?"

Sam took a drink of her cooling coffee. "You know that's standard procedure."

"And if I _*had*_ told you about it, you would have felt obligated to tell him what you know."

"I still do," Sam confirmed.

"And what if he's the leak?"

Sam felt her mouth drop open. "I highly doubt he or Marla would be selling secrets!"

"Think about it. The inside track on what projects the government plans to back could be some very valuable information. Worth a lot of money to the right people."

"You're crazy. Neither Roy or Marla have an expensive lifestyle. There'd be no reason for them to be a mole."

"I appreciate your loyalty, Sam, but I don't think you're being objective. Perhaps I am being a bit paranoid, but it seems someone outside your office and Cheyenne Mountain has an interest in the Stargate. No one is even supposed to know it exists outside of a few special committees. For all I know, it could be one of them. My point is, I don't think we can be too safe when it comes to discussing the details of that mission."

"Well, a little caution doesn't hurt," Sam admitted.

"So, where was I? Oh yes. O'Neill's first report. Needless to say, I wasn't too thrilled he'd put me through hell when he'd told me Daniel was dead, but he said he owed the man a favor. Also, he thought someone outside of the military needed to know the truth, should something 'unexpected' happened."

"Unexpected?"

"Colonel O'Neill is, or was, Black Ops. He knows how 'accidents' happen."

Yeah, and so did she. Jonas might have thought he was keeping the darker side of his work secret from her, but Sam wasn't a first-year cadet. "Jackson being left on Abydos would be worth killing a man?"

"Who can say what the government would consider dangerous information?"

"So he puts you at risk by telling you this?"

"I suppose he might have, but really, what reason would Colonel O'Neill have to lie? And what possible reason could there be to tell a civilian archeologist?" she asked, eyes twinkling.

Sam waved her hands in the air. "Okay. All that aside, why would Daniel want to stay on Abydos?"

"You said it yourself, Sam. The chance to study an ancient culture, up close and personal? Colonel O'Neill *would* have had to kill Jackson to get him to leave that planet."

Before Sam could comment, the waitress returned to take their order. Alone once more, she asked, "So O'Neill didn't blow up the 'gate on the other side, but I know his type. He wouldn't have left Abydos if Ra was still a threat."

"He didn't. The bomb was aboard Ra's ship; it detonated in space."

"So why all the lies? Why not just tell West what really happened?"

Catherine shrugged her shoulders. "I'm not sure, but I can tell you one thing: the man that came back through that Stargate was not the same man who left."

"You mean you think he was compromised in some way?"

"No, nothing like that. It was more like he'd gotten dose of reality. Remember how I told you his eyes looked 'dead?'"

"Yeah. I remember he kind of freaked you out at first."

The ghost of a smile graced Catherine's lips as she toyed with her silverware. "To say the least."

"So, what's different now?"

"I don't know. It's hard to put my finger on, really. It's like he's not so 'ridged,' such an automaton like he was when he left. He had some sort of epiphany on that planet. What it was, I doubt I'll ever know."

Breakfast arrived, giving Sam a moment to review all Catherine had just revealed. Glancing at the folders, she knew she had the power to bring down O'Neill in the palm of her hand. But what would that accomplish? Get a re-activated soldier a dishonorable discharge? He'd eliminated the threat to Earth, that was what was important. If he went about it in a slightly unorthodox way that pleased his superiors, what did it matter?

Suddenly Sam's head snapped up. "Oh, my God!" she mumbled through a mouthful of eggs. "The 'gate! If the colonel didn't blow up the bomb on Abydos, the Stargate must still be intact!"

Another enigmatic smile crept across Catherine's face. "It's not destroyed. Only buried."

"Why bury it?"

"They had to make it look real, like Abydos *had* been blown up, otherwise West would have sent another bomb through. As it was, the probe they sent was flattened on the other side, satisfying the general their mission had been accomplished."

Sam paused, fork in mid-air. "I still don't understand why O'Neill told you this. Surly he must have realized what a risk he was taking telling someone outside of the team what really happened?"

"Maybe I look trust worthy," she grinned. "Actually, it was Daniel's request." Catherine was playing with her gold locket, the one she always wore. Looking up at Sam, she said, "I gave this to Jackson, for good luck. Colonel O'Neill returned it to me after the debriefing. That's when he told me what really transpired."

"I have to give you credit, Catherine. You're quite some actress. You certainly had me fooled with your grief over Jackson."

"That was no act," she said, allowing the necklace to fall against her chest. "I really will miss him. You would have liked him. You have the same passion for your work. The same curiosity. Who knows, maybe you will meet someday."

"I don't see how," Sam muttered dejectedly. If the Stargate on Abydos has been declared destroyed, there will be no reason to attempt another mission there. I wonder if Daniel really knew what he was getting himself into when he opted to stay on the planet. I mean, research is great, but if you can't share your results with anyone, what's the point?"

"Is that how you felt those years you worked on Project Giza? The reason you're still hanging on, working on the farthest edge possible?"

Sam looked a little sheepish. "Okay, I guess you got me there. But at least I can share my findings with you and the rest of the people I work with. Who's Daniel got? He's probably lucky if he can communicate with them, let alone discuss evolutionary theories."

"My dear, Sam. Sometimes there is more to life than the exploration of your chosen field of study."

Sam nearly choked on her orange juice. "And this from a woman who's lived and breathed the Stargate all her life."

"I wasn't always so consumed," Catherine confessed. "In fact, I almost married once."

It was obvious the memories weren't pleasant, and Sam wondered how wise it was to ask the inevitable question. "What happened?"

"Ernest was doing some top-secret research for the government in the forties when there was a lab accident. I never really got much more information than that, only that there'd been some sort of explosion killing everyone in the room. I never really got over him, I guess."

"Catherine," Sam said, reaching over to squeeze her hand. "I'm sorry, I had no idea!"

"Well, not many people do," she said, wiping at the corners of her eyes. "I kind of threw myself into my work after that. I didn't have access to the Stargate, but there was always other archeological finds to explore. Most of the time I spent fighting with school administrations to be allowed on digs. It wasn't easy for a woman alone at that time."

"I can see now why you're so effective with the finance committees," Sam smiled.

"Yeah. Some legacy," Catherine chuckled bitterly. Checking her watch, she looked up at Sam. "Are you just about ready? I don't want to be late."

Sam grabbed the folders in one hand and the check in the other. Catherine tried to protest, but Sam insisted. "I think in light of the fact of what you risked to tell me this information, the least I can do is buy you breakfast."

"Very well, thank you."

"You're welcome. I forgot to ask-how long are you in town for?"

"Just today. I have a flight back to Colorado this evening."

"Need a ride back?

"No, I'm fine. Besides, you're going to be busy with those reports," she smiled.

"Will you have time to drop by the office before you leave?"

"I'd planned on it. I'm curious to see how it's run." The double meaning of her words didn't escape Sam. Catherine was on the look-out for her mole. While she wouldn't believe Colonel Sanders or Marla could be in on the plot, Sam couldn't think of anyone else who'd be in a position to profit from the information in her office. Maybe while Catherine was pleading her case, She could do a little investigating on her own.

Reading over O'Neill's reports for the second time, Sam had to admit he was good. If he was honest with Catherine about what really happened on the mission, he'd covered his tracks damn good. Looking over the details, she never would have questioned they weren't an accurate representation of the events on Abydos.

Catherine was right about one thing-if she didn't know better, Sam would have sworn the pre-mission report and the post-mission one had been written by separate people. The first could easily been the product of the cold man who'd brushed past her that last day. Sentences were short and clipped, stressing the need for "immediate action" should a risk be assessed. Phrases like "by any means necessary," and "protecting Earth at all costs," kept jumping out at her. Obviously West had chosen a kindred soul when he hand-picked O'Neill to replace her.

The second report was equally brief, but some of the urgency was no longer there. Perhaps because the mission had come to its conclusion, but it was more than that. He seemed willing to justify his actions moreso than in the first report where he was merely following orders. The post report showed a man who was able to reinterpret his orders as situations changed.

Sam paged through both files quickly once more. She probably wouldn't have picked up on the differences in style as readily if she hadn't had the conversation with Catherine that morning. Now, reading between the lines, she noticed O'Neill had used many ambiguous phrases. In essence, finding a way to obscure the truth without actually lying. She was impressed.

Still, she felt uneasy keeping facts from Colonel Sanders. He was her commanding officer, and as such, she owed him her loyalty. But what about her loyalty to Catherine and her project? Isn't that why she was here? To make sure everything was being done to keep it alive? She truly believed Roy had nothing to do with secrets being leaked, but if she let him in on Catherine's information, she was jeopardizing O'Neill and his team as well.

Sitting back, Sam rubbed her hands over her face. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Six-sided with no clear options? Just then her intercom buzzed.

"Sam? You ready to share those reports yet?" Roy's voice echoed in the room.

"Yeah, I was about to come see you. It looks pretty cut and dry, but I'm sure you're going to want to see what O'Neill had to say." Sam winced, knowing she'd made her decision to leave out a few facts, just as Colonel O'Neill had.

Catherine knocked on Roy's door, gracing him with a tired smile. "Mind if interrupt, Colonel?"

"Please, please," Roy said, rising to properly greet her. "Dr. Langford, it's been a long time."

"Yes it has," she said, giving him a quick nod. Sam stood, offering Catherine her seat. She started to refuse, then changed her mind, sitting on the edge of the chair. Sam noticed her hand shaking, and for the first time since she'd known her, Sam thought Catherine looked her age.

"Are you feeling all right?" She asked quietly, trying to avoid drawing undue attention to the fact Catherine looked like hell.

"Perhaps some water," she said, gratefully accepting a glass from Sam.

"You must be very proud, Dr. Langford! To be justified after all these years!"

"That goes without saying, Colonel. And please, call me 'Catherine.'"

"If you'll return the favor," Roy said giving her a charming smile. Sam stifled the desire to roll her eyes at Roy's fawning over Catherine. She couldn't blame him. She probably would have been too if she hadn't gotten to know her so well.

Catherine rarely blushed, and Sam was a bit surprised to find her friend flustered at his flattery. "My name may be at the head of the project, but I couldn't have done it without my loyal staff," she said, looking up at Sam. "It's a victory for everyone involved."

"I agree," Roy said. "I was just going over the mission reports with Sam, here, and I have to say it almost reads like science fiction. Who would ever believe the ring really is a portal to another world? I have to admit, when Sam first speculated on the nature of the Stargate, I thought she'd been watching a little too much Star Trek. I think I'm still in shock!"

"I think we all were," Catherine admitted.

Roy looked at the two women across from him. "You'll forgive me, but you don't seem particularly thrilled with your success. I realize the Stargate on Abydos had to be destroyed, but think of all you accomplished, not to mention figuring out an ancient artifact. That in itself is a monumental achievement!"

"I wish there were more people here in Washington with your enthusiasm," Catherine said quietly, taking a sip of her water, relieving the quaver in her voice.

"I'm afraid I don't understand," Roy said, casting a glance at Sam who'd taken a position behind Catherine.

"I've just come from a meeting from the Appropriations Committee about continued funding. Of course it doesn't help matters this project is still considered so sensitive it's referred to only as 'Project Bluebook.' A few of the more conservative members of the committee are unwilling to continue backing an obscure project they can't really even talk about because they have no knowledge of what it entails. All they know is it's sanctioned by the President."

"I take it that isn't good enough?"

"Not for the kind of money I'm asking for. To be honest, I can't say I blame them, especially when I can't explain what it is I need the money for. I'm surprised we've gotten as far as we have. Of course, much of that is due to the recommendations from this office, and for that, I can't thank you enough."

"Don't kid yourself, Catherine. This wasn't any kind of personal favor. Even before Sam came to work here, Project Giza had my attention. You've made some amazing strides, and if my voice will lend any weight to your campaign for more money, you have my full support."

Catherine seemed to relax a bit before expressing her thanks once more. "I do appreciate your devotion to the Stargate, but I think we may be up against some insurmountable odds this time. What do you know about a new Senator by the name of Kinsey?"

Sam's head snapped up at the mention of the man's name. Her eyes flicked to Roy's and for a second they shared a moment of understanding.

"Only that he's been very vocal about government over-spending, especially where the military is concerned."

"He's also very vocal when it comes to secret projects. He practically laughed me out of the room! He's a very persuasive speaker, and before I was 'excused,' he'd convinced a good many of my previous supporters it was time the government severed its ties with the project. The official vote hasn't been taken yet, but I don't expect any kind of a reprieve this time. If I was allowed to show them some evidence, some tangible proof the money was being put to good use, I know the Committee would side with me.

"But as you know, it's under the military's jurisdiction again and I'm not at liberty to discuss any pertinent facts of the project with anyone. Apart from this office, that is. So, you see, I've finally reached the end. This was my last bid to keep the project going."

Sam could tell Catherine was close to tears, and she'd barely seen the woman get choked up before.

"It's not official yet, Catherine, but I promise, I'll do what I can," Roy said, glancing back up at Sam. She knew anything was going to be a token effort. The Stargate's fate had been sealed even before Catherine had left the room. All because Senator Kinsey maneuvered his way onto the Appropriations Committee.

Catherine nodded in acceptance, clearing her throat as she stood. "I'm sorry to have to cut this so short, but I've got a flight back to Colorado tonight."

"I understand. I appreciate you taking the time to stop in with your busy schedule."

Catherine smiled and nodded once more. "Would it be all right if I borrowed Sam for a moment? I always seem to get lost when I come to the Pentagon."

"Of course. Sam, just remember, you have a duty to perform here," he said pointedly.

Sam's eyes lowered momentarily before she raised them to him once more. "Yes, Sir."

They walked in silence for several hundred feet before Catherine stopped, causing Sam to do the same.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

"That cryptic little sentence before we left. You know something, don't you?"

"Catherine, please. It was one thing not to tell Roy about the Intel you gave me when technically I can write it off as gossip. But he's my commanding officer! Whether it sounded like it or not, that was an order."

"You surprise me, Sam. Do you know what I risked when I gave you that information this morning?"

Sam bit her lip, torn between revealing what she knew and remaining true to her oaths.

"I guess I don't know you as well as I thought I did," Catherine said, turning away from her, striding down the hallway once more. Sam watched her walk away, waiting a moment before she called out,

"You're going the wrong way."

Catherine turned to face her, arms crossed. "And you know the right way?"

Sam walked toward her. "I don't seem to know my way lately any better than you," she grinned. Catherine took a few steps toward her, meeting Sam in the middle of the hall.

"Roy and I discovered a connection between Kinsey and General West, shortly after I came here." Catherine waited for Sam to elaborate but she tugged on her arm, pulling her down another corridor. "Not here. Outside."

Once they cleared the building, Sam and Catherine huddled together, trying to stay out of the wind. "The first task Roy assigned me to was finding out how West had by-passed our office to get official military control of Project Giza. It seemed kind of obscure at first, but we had evidence of several meetings between West and Kinsey. Oh, they were very innocent. Public functions where they were sure to be seen by large numbers of people. Hiding in plain sight."

"That's kind of an odd pair, with Kinsey being so against government spending, and West part of a very expensive project," Catherine observed.

"It gets even stranger. Kinsey used his influence to get control of the project changed to the military."

"But that doesn't make any sense! He sat in that meeting, ranting about the perils of secret government projects while he gave his blessing to one?"

"I don't think it was in the interest of seeing the project to its conclusion. I think he wanted it shut down, and since West has been a doomsayer all along, he thought he'd found an ally. The only trouble was, you brought Daniel Jackson on, and before anyone knew it, he'd solved the puzzle of the missing glyph. Things moved too quickly from that point. You had West backed into a corner, and Kinsey couldn't stop a project he supposedly had no knowledge of."

"So, you think Kinsey knows everything there is to know about the Stargate?"

"I would say everything we know, although he's denying it, of course. You think there's a bug in my office, or maybe Roy's? If there is, I'll bet you he's the one listening on the other end."

Catherine practically snorted. "Well, from the accusations he was leveling at me, he seemed pretty 'informed' for being someone who kept claiming to be _*un*_- informed. Of course, if I brought this up to anyone, they'd say I was just being paranoid, grasping at straws because my funding had been yanked. God! Nothing galls me more than slick bastards like that getting away with something like this, all the while smelling like a rose!"

Catherine's cursing took Sam a bit by surprise. "All the more reason to keep the knowledge O'Neill gave you a secret as well. If Kinsey thought there was a chance the 'gate could be used again, I'm sure he'd find a way to have it destroyed."

Straightening her back, Catherine brushed the wind-blown hair from her face as she looked out over the landscaping. "This was certainly not how I saw this ending, especially after Jackson made it work. I had such high hopes." Catherine's voice caught. "I was so sure after seeing what the Stargate could do, I wouldn't have to fight so hard to keep the money coming. Now, I don't have any. And that's not the worst of it," she said, turning to look at Sam. "They're going to take it away from me. They won't work on it further, nor will they allow me to pursue my research. Even if I could come up with private funding."

"Catherine, I don't know what to say," Sam said, her own voice thick with emotion. "It hasn't been decided for sure."

"My eternal optimist," Catherine said with an indulgent smile. "For that I thank you. But there's no use sticking my head in the sand. No, I know it's over. It's just a matter of what they decide to do with the Stargate. You will let me know, won't you?"

Sam hugged herself, fighting off the urge to cry. "Of course I will."

Catherine stepped closer, enveloping Sam in a warm embrace. "I'm going to miss you. Stay in touch, all right?" Sam merely nodded, afraid her voice would fail her. "You better be getting back or Roy will start questioning your allegiance."

Sam pulled out of her arms, giving Catherine a quick nod before she turned to enter the building. Life was a series of beginnings and ends, but each ending became more painful than the last. Looking through the glass of the door, watching Catherine walking away, Sam had never felt so directionless in her life.

~May, 1996~

It hadn't been an easy year for Sam. Seeing the official end to the Stargate project was nearly as hard on her as it had been on Catherine. There was the odd report out of Cheyenne Mountain, detailing the shut-down procedures, but nothing of any real consequence. Still, Sam kept every memo, every scrap of information that had to do with level 28, trying in vain to remain connected to a project she should have forgotten months ago.

It wasn't that there weren't exciting proposals arriving daily. Some of the projects had incredible potential, but none captured her imagination as the Stargate had. She'd even begun to wonder if she knew what she wanted from her career anymore. NASA had been her goal for as long as she could remember, but now, the thought of flying shuttles seemed so mundane. How could she settle for NASA's fledgling attempts at space travel when she knew how close she'd come to actually going to another *planet?* There were days she wished she'd never heard of Catherine Langford, level 28 or Project Giza.

Sam opened the bottom drawer of her desk, surveying the collection of reports, messages, and memos having to do with the Stargate. Why was she hanging on to all of this? How many times a day did she find herself paging through documents she knew by heart, only to make her feel as if she still played an active roll in it's operation. It was sick, she thought. Like hanging on to old love letters from some guy that dumped her in high school, just so she still felt there was some connection. She'd clean the drawer out, she decided. Soon. But not today.

Glancing at the clock, Sam noticed she was running late for her morning meeting with Roy. Sliding the lower compartment of her desk closed, she grabbed her notes for a new project. Giving Marla a quick smile, she knocked on Roy's door.

"Come!"

Sam entered the office, waiting for Roy to look up from his reading before she sat down.

"Sam! Good, good! Take a seat," he said, waving at the chair across from him. "I don't know why you're still so formal with me after all this time," he grinned.

"I have to keep on my toes for when they give me a 'real' C.O.," she smiled back.

"Well, that may be sooner than you think," he said, handing her a folder with "classified" stamped in bold letters across the surface. "Something to add to your little 'shrine.'"

"Sir?"

"Just read the damn report, Sam. It says it better than I can."

Sam opened up the file, noticing the first line read: "from the office of General George Hammond, Cheyenne Mountain, CO." She looked up at Roy for a second before reading further.

Hammond had replaced General West when the Stargate had been decommissioned. It was no secret the man was heading for retirement, and overseeing the closure of levels 12 through 28 was more "busy work" than an actual assignment.

Returning to the report, Sam quickly read of the events that happened the day before. She sat up straighter when she got to the passage about the Stargate activating, aliens having come through, and a female soldier having been abducted. As she continued, she saw Hammond had requested an audience with again-retired O'Neill, who was sticking to his original story of the events on Abydos fifteen months prior. Apparently Hammond was having trouble believing the 'gate on Abydos had been destroyed since the aliens had come through Earth's Stargate. He was recommending a new bomb be sent through to Abydos, to end the threat once and for all.

"No!" Sam cried when she read the final line of the report.

"Sam?"

"He can't do it! Roy, you can't let him send a bomb through!"

"And why is that?" he asked, sitting back, crossing his arms.

"Be. . .because if the aliens came through, that means the 'gate on the other side is still intact."

"Exactly Hammond's point, I believe. Sam, maybe West wasn't just blowing smoke up our asses. Apparently he was justified in his fears Earth could be invaded through the Stargate."

She had to think fast. She couldn't tell him about O'Neill's little "omission," not now, not after all this time. "Sir, let me talk to General Hammond! Perhaps there's some way we can solve this without destroying the other 'gate!"

Roy leaned forward once more, removing his glasses and looking Sam straight in the eye. His face appeared almost paternal as he tried to dissuade her. "Sam, I know what this project means to you-what it's always meant to you. But just because you want it to be this wonderful, amazing, _*benign*_ thing, doesn't mean it is. It *could* be a genuine threat and the best thing for all concerned, if it *is* a danger, is to destroy it."

Sam jumped to her feet, pacing before Roy's desk. "I can't believe you actually said that! How many times have humans destroyed something just because we don't understand it? We keep claiming we've 'come so far,' and consider ourselves to be enlightened, but how 'enlightened' is it to shoot first and ask questions later? You know yourself when you read the reports from the Abydos mission you felt an incredible sense of loss. Wondering what we could have learned from the Stargate if it's counterpart hadn't been blown to hell! Well, somehow, we have a second chance at finding out, and I can't sit by and let it happen again!"

"I don't know that you have a choice. Hammond seems pretty adamant about making damn sure the 'gate on Abydos is eliminated."

Sam slid back into her chair. She had an ace up her sleeve. As loathe as she was to use family connections, she didn't see she had a choice. "Roy," she sighed, "Hammond is an old family friend. Let me try to talk to him. At the very least let me try to buy some time."

"How the mighty have fallen," he said, softening the sarcasm in his voice with a smile. Sam's eyebrows rose; her expression questioning his statement. "I only mean I never thought I'd live to see the day Sam Carter pulled strings to get what she wanted."

Sam looked down, not proud of the lengths she would go to, but she was resolute, nonetheless. Looking back up she said, "my back's against the wall, Roy. I never thought I'd stoop to using family ties, but the Stargate is worth the loss of my principles."

"Doing a little name dropping isn't the sin you seem to think it is, Sam." Roy tapped his fingers on his desk, shuffling a few papers as Sam waited for some decision from him. "Call him," he said at length. "See what you can do."

"Thank you, Sir!" Sam breathed, practically out the door before the sentence was spoke.

"Sam? One more thing," he said, stopping her at the door. "If Hammond decides he needs to see you, I can have you on a plane later today."

"Thanks, Roy," she said. "Anyone ever tell you you're a great C.O.?"

Sanders waved her out of the office. "Get out of here, Sam. No sense wasting that prime sucking up on me!"

Sam grinned as she shut the door behind her. Somehow, the threat of an alien incursion had just made her day a whole lot better.

Sam had been trying for the past hour to get through to General Hammond. For a man on his way to retirement, things had suddenly become hectic. Hammond's secretary returned to the line, informing her that the general was simply too busy at the moment to take her call.

"Damn it! Have you even told him I've been calling?"

"Ma'am," the secretary told her in icy tones, "the General has been on the phone with the President. I doubt even you can top that connection."

"Yes, well, it's *extremely* important that I talk to him. It's Samantha Carter, _*General*_ Jacob Carter's daughter, and I'm calling from the Pentagon."

"I'll give him the message. _*Again,*_" she replied, unimpressed with Sam's lineage. Sam hung up the phone, alternating between staring at it, willing it to ring, biting her nails and reading the report for the umpteenth time. She was just about to leave for coffee when the phone rang.

"Captain Carter? General Hammond's office calling, please hold." It was amazing how much friendlier the secretary sounded when there was a chance her boss could overhear her.

"Captain Carter? This is General Hammond. I understand you've been most eager to talk to me. But before we get into that, how's your father?"

"Um, he's fine, Sir. I only mentioned his name in the hopes you'd remember having met me."

"Well, Sam, I know it's been some years but I do recall meeting you and your brother. Probably a good thing you brought up Jacob's name or I wouldn't have put two and two together."

"Sir?"

"I doubt I would have realized the Sam Carter who's been cited as the expert on the Stargate was the same girl I met twenty years ago."

Sam had to smile at Hammond's chatty nature. Here he was in the middle of a crisis, and he had time to recall their meeting. She remembered him as being amiable, but he seemed to have mellowed even more over the years.

"What can I do for you?

"Well, Sir, it's about the report on the Stargate our office received this morning."

"Yes, well, that was probably sent out a bit prematurely. It should have been sent when our plans had been implemented."

"General, that's why I'm calling. I know you've assessed the Stargate as a risk, but I think destroying it would be a big mistake. There is so much more we could learn from it. _*Valuable*_ information that needs to be retrieved. I think before any decision is made you should speak with Dr. Catherine Langford or Drs. Gary Meyers and Barbara Shore. They're the real experts on the Stargate; they've devoted their lives to its study."

"Captain, Sam, I understand as a scientist you want the opportunity to explore what this device is capable of, but as a soldier, you have to realize the risk it poses, and the President agrees with me. I've talked to Colonel O'Neill and he insists he did everything he could to prevent recent events from happening. Apparently we need to be a little more sure this time."

O'Neill was sticking to his story? Why had he kept quiet? Initially it had been to protect the knowledge Daniel Jackson was still alive and living on Abydos. Now he was willing to sacrifice Jackson _*and*_ the Abydonians just so his report would stand up to a review board? Other than exchanging greetings in the hallway on her way out, she'd never met the man, but could someone who'd risked everything to protect Daniel a little over a year ago be willing to sell him out now?

Sam debated with herself. Catherine had told her O'Neill's secret in confidence. Did she have the right to betray that faith? What if her confession failed to move Hammond and had the opposite effect, and O'Neill was court-martialed; the bomb still sent? She had to take the chance George Hammond was the compassionate man she remembered. Although he wasn't a frequent visitor to the Carter household, Jacob often spoke of him as a man of integrity. He would do the right thing.

"General, I believe I have some information that might change your mind. It's about O'Neill's report." Sam hesitated a moment before she continued. "There were some omissions."

Hammond listened without interruption as Sam filled him in on the missing pieces to the puzzle. At first his silence worried her, causing Sam to wonder if she'd done what was best by telling him. Colonel O'Neill was retired, only called in as a "consultant," as it were, when the aliens came through the Stargate. Surely he couldn't be brought up on charges after all this time?

"Captain," Hammond spoke softly, "I know what a difficult decision it must have been to give me this information, but you did the right thing." Sam was sure he'd heard the exhale of her breath. "I suspected there was something he wasn't telling me, and now that I do know, I have a bit of leverage. If I can get him to confess he'd falsified his report, I might be able to stop the bomb from going through as planned."

"Why does he have to confess? I told you what happened!"

"While I don't doubt the validity of your claim, it *is* still hearsay, and third hand at that. As I said, with this advantage I should be able to entertain some other options."

"Sir, with all due respect, I think you could use me there. Along with Catherine, Gary and Barbara." Sam knew she was pushing it, but she wasn't about to get side-lined again. Even if the President decided it was in Earth's best interest to bury the 'gate, perhaps she'd have a few days with it to experiment.

"I agree we could use your input on this, Captain, but I'm afraid the civilians are out of the question at this point."

"Sir, I. . ."

"This is still a military operation, and the threat to Earth is real. This isn't the time to turn this facility into a laboratory. I'll allow you because of your status as an Air Force officer."

"Yes, Sir," she said quietly.

"And, Captain? None of this information is to be relayed to anyone outside this command. Is that understood?"

Sam knew what he meant-no telling Catherine about what was going on. How did she leave her out of the loop, after all she'd done for her? She wouldn't have been allowed near the Mountain if she hadn't bargained with Catherine's information.

She had an inkling of what O'Neill must have felt when he'd omitted certain facts from his report. He didn't want to lie, but it was in everyone's best interest if he did. Perhaps Catherine couldn't be a part of this opportunity, but did that mean she should give up her chance as well? Sam knew Catherine. As much as she'd want to be a part of things, she'd understand when Sam was the only one in a position to participate. She wouldn't deny her the chance.

"Yes, Sir," Sam finally answered.

"Excellent. How soon can you be here?"

Sam arrived at NORAD with mixed feelings-excited and nervous at the same time. She was overcome by an incredible sense of deja vu, returning to the complex. Even though it'd been only a little over eighteen months, things seemed to have changed. Perhaps it was just her perspective. When she'd left, she hadn't known what the ring did, let alone know it would become known as the Stargate. Now, she was here to make sure she was going through it.

General Hammond phoned her at home as she was packing, to inform her he'd made a decision to go ahead with the reconnaissance mission O'Neill was fighting for, and she'd be included on the team.

Sam's hands had been shaking so hard, she was amazed she'd managed to hang onto the phone. Or able to keep her voice so even. Although, once she'd hung up, she was sure her shriek had been heard for miles.

She'd caught a very early transport out of D.C., barely giving her enough time to make it to Colorado and the scheduled morning briefing at the Mountain. Exiting on level 11, Sam was surprised to find the same Airman stationed at the sign-in desk. Looking up, he recognized her.

"Captain Carter! Good to see you again, Ma'am!"

"It's good to be back," she smiled, reveling in the fact she'd returned and actually signing in.

"I heard you'd been transferred," the man said, automatically checking her signature against the pass list he had before him.

"I was," she said, picking up her briefcase.

"Well, pardon me for asking, Ma'am, but what are you doing back here?" leaning forward he whispered. "Rumor has it whatever is going on down there is being packed up."

Sam noted the man's name tag. "You should know better than to listen to rumors, Sergeant Jefferies."

The young man look flustered, as if he'd let some state secret go. "It's not like I *know* anything, Ma'am, but you know how you hear stuff. . . ."

"Then it's best not to pass it on, don't you agree?"

"Yes, Ma'am! Have a good day, Ma'am!" he said, saluting her.

"I'm sure I will. Thank you." Sam stepped into the car, taking a deep breath as the doors closed. Almost reverently she pressed the button for level 28, hoping the nervous feeling in her stomach was a result of the elevator's swift descent. When the doors opened, Sam was surprised to see the corridor deserted, except for a lone guard. He approached her as her gaze traveled around the gray cement walls.

"Well, they certainly haven't cozied up the place," she mumbled aloud.

"Ma'am?" the guard asked.

"Nothing, Airman," she said turning to head to the ringroom. _*'Gate room*_ she corrected herself.

"Ma'am? The briefing room is that way," the guard said, pointing in the opposite direction.

"Yes, I know. I was just hoping I'd have a chance to see the. . ."

"General Hammond is waiting for you, Ma'am."

Sam checked her watch. He probably was. The drive over to NORAD had taken longer than she'd anticipated. It was just that she wanted to see the Stargate, assure herself it was still there. Climbing the stairs, Sam's heels clicked on the cold concrete as she headed for the briefing room.

Outside the door, she notice the meeting had already begun. Smoothing down her uniform, she wished it were as easy to brush away her nerves. So much was riding on this meeting. General Hammond guaranteed her she was on the team, but he'd yet to inform O'Neill of that fact. She wasn't going to be left behind. Not this time. And Colonel Jack O'Neill better accept that.

Voices were coming from the semi-dark briefing room. ". . .where's he transferring from?"

Sam stepped through the open door. "_*She*_ is transferring from the Pentagon." Sam tried to appear unruffled by the men's eyes now trained on her. There was the usual posturing taking place; wisecracks and snickers to bolster their egos, but she'd been expecting it. The occupants of the room didn't disappoint her, especially the two officers from the original Abydos mission. She'd handled worse, she decided, and shot their attitude right back at them. Taking her seat, Sam knew she'd come on a little strong, especially offering to arm-wrestle O'Neill for her spot on the team, but she wasn't about to be intimidated. Fortunately, General Hammond managed to get the meeting back on track before she made any more feminist soap-box statements.

Sam had to admit she was a little disappointed by O'Neill's opinion of scientists, especially when one had been instrumental in saving his butt on Abydos. Catherine had told her when he'd originally come on the project he hadn't had time for her scientific staff, and apparently his attitude hadn't changed.

Colonel Samuels interrupted O'Neill's diatribe only to become of victim of the man's sarcasm himself. For a moment Sam felt sorry for the colonel being on the receiving end of O'Neill's caustic remarks, but the moment he advocated burial of the Stargate, Sam's sympathy ended. She was about to comment when O'Neill beat her to the punch, telling Samuels in no uncertain terms destruction of the 'gate wasn't the answer.

"They know what we are now. We're a threat to _*them.*_ They've got ships, General. Ra had one as big as the Great Pyramids. They don't need the Stargate to get here. They can do it the 'old fashioned' way."

Sam's gaze turned to O'Neill, watching as he pleaded for a mission to reconnoiter Abydos before moving onto more drastic measures. Listening to the colonel's impassioned speech, Sam found herself taking a liking to him. At first she wasn't sure what her reaction to him was going to be, but the man before her now wasn't the same person she'd encountered nineteen months ago. Granted, he still had an edge to him, but he seemed as anxious as she was to see what lay beyond the Stargate. That went a long way in garnering her respect.

She'd been so absorbed in her observation of O'Neill, Sam nearly missed the general calling an end to the meeting.

". . .and no Kleenex boxes this time, please." he said as he stood.

Sam was puzzled by the exchange, apparently it was meant for O'Neill, as it caused the man to grin. Looking up, he caught Sam staring at him. Offering her an almost imperceptible nod, Sam relaxed and genuinely smiled for the first time since she'd entered the room. Engaging his eyes, she realized what the gesture meant. Apparently, he'd accepted her on the team.

The mission hadn't even started before Sam ran into her first obstacle-one locker room for both sexes. Not that taking turns was such a big a deal, but the guys got there first and took their own sweet time, leaving her with mere minutes to get changed and geared up. It didn't take a genius to figure out it was their "innocent" way of hazing her. Okay, so maybe she deserved it for her performance in the meeting, but she wouldn't let it get her down. She knew it was going to take some time to earn their respect, like any new member of a team.

"Nice of you to join us, Captain," O'Neill smirked as she entered the 'gate room. Sam barely heard him as she stared at the Stargate. They'd installed a more permanent looking power source to the rim of the 'gate, causing the inner ring to move faster than when she'd been conducting trial runs.

Torn between wanting to be in the control room and where she was on the floor of the embarkation room, Sam waited for the Stargate to begin its sequence. She wanted a look at the computers, wondering if they'd upgraded the system or hadn't bothered since the project had been scrapped.

A technician Sam hadn't seen before was calling out the chevrons as they engaged, then locked. With each successful lock, she felt her anticipation rising. The sixth chevron was in place, and Sam held her breath, waiting to see first hand what the seventh would produce. She'd waited over three years for this day. From the moment she'd learned of Project Giza she'd been working toward this goal; to see what the Stargate actually did.

"Chevron seven, locked!"

A great "whoosh" of matter spewed forth from the Stargate, causing Sam to jump back in surprise. Never had she imagined it could be so beautiful, so glorious.

Standing at the base of the ramp, Sam watched with fascination as the wormhole collapsed back on itself. Gaze fixed on the event horizon, it took a nudge from O'Neill to get her moving up the slope of the grating. Taking in a lung full of air, she realized the moment was at hand-the adventure of a lifetime was about to begin.

The End


End file.
